wF 




Class J^S I 6:7^ 

Copyright N« 15L0.^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



ESSAYS 



ESSAYS 



IN 



POETRY AND PROSE 



BY 



LEWIS C. FLANAGAN 



Let clowns get wealth and heirs : when I am gone, 
If I a poem leave, tliat poem is my son." 

Thomas Randolph. 1605-1634. 



PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. 



?s 



THE LIBRARY OF 
COHORESS, 

Two Coptue REOcrvED 

OCT. 10 ^mz 

[\^>^a. r.!^ 1- 
DLASrO: XXa No. 

3 s- -) 3*r 

COPY B. 






% 



COPTKIGHT 1902 
BY 

M. 11. Flanagan. 



Printed by Edward W. Wheeler, Cambridge, Mass. 



SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

Lewis Cass Flanagan was born in Somerville, 
Mass., on April 5, 185(^. He was the son of Edward 
and Caroline (Rand) Flanagan. He was named Lewis 
Cass after the soldier and statesman who at that time 
was one of the most prominent men in the country, be- 
ing Senator from Michigan and having been, two years 
previous, a candidate for President. 

Lewis received an ordinary education in the schools of 
Somerville ending with his graduation from the Frank- 
lin Grammar School. After leavmg school, at the age 
of fourteen, he entered upon a mercantile career, but 
meeting with an accident which disabled him for a time 
he took up the study of pharmacy and learned the 
practice of the trade at the Massachusetts General 
Hospital. He pursued this vocation for several years 
m private shops and public institutions. 

While so engaged he was a diligent student of litera- 
ture and he also became interested in the Young Men's 
Congress of Boston, an organization formed for the 



Vm SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

study and practice of parliamentary procedure. He 
served as speaker of this body and was deeply interested 
in its welfare up to the time of his death. His activity 
in this direction caused him to be sought to give instruc- 
tion in this branch of knowledge and he was engaged 
for several years to give a regular course in parliamen1> 
ary law at the Young Men's Christian Union of Boston. 
This however was not so much to his taste as would 
have been an opportunity to be an instructor in a natural 
science or literary branch of study, to which career he 
was looking forward at the time of his death. He was 
a lover of nature and was particularly interested in the 
science of forestry in which he acquired much practical 
knowledge by joining the classes of iNlr. Jack at the 
Arnold Arboretum. He early in life began to develop 
a taste for literary composition and wrote many articles 
in prose and poetry which were published in the local 
papers of Cambridge and Somerville. 

In 1875 he went to California for the benefit of his 
health. Both his outward and homeward journeys were 
made by the way of the Isthmus of Panama, and his pas- 
sage through the Caribbean Sea inspired the poem upon 
that subject which is included in the folio wmg collection. 
While employed as apothecary at the Massachusetts Eye 
and Ear Infirmary in 1888 he was seized with an ilhiess 



SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. IX 

which obliged him to retire from active business and 
from this time he never completely regained his health. 

In 1898 he removed to North Weymouth where he 
died February 21, 1900. He was laid away at Mount 
Auburn on a cold winter day by his sisters and brother 
who survived him. 

His character was singularly pure and upright. He 
was of a grave and dignified demeanor in public, but of 
a gentle and affable disposition, which made him a 
favorite in a circle of choice companions. In religion 
he was a Unitarian and in youth attended the Unita- 
rian Church in Somerville, and later in life was a mem- 
ber of the Unity Club connected with that Society. It 
was before this Club that the longer prose essays m 
this collection were read. 

Some of his compositions were not preserved. To 
secure in a permanent form the pieces still in existence 
this volume has been prmted. 

North Cambridge. E, T. F. 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS. 

Fresh Pond 1 

The Turn-stone 3 

The Toad's Lament 4 

"The First Inspiration OF Columbus" .... 7 

Lines to a Robin 9 

The Return 10 

Three Steamers 12 

Fort Washington 15 

The Blooming of the Cereus 17 

The Sword of Bolivar 18 

On the Blue Caribbean 20 

On a Portrait of L. E. L 22 

The Home of the Albatross 23 

Scales and Feathers 25 

Paul Revere's First Ride to Lexington .... 26 

"The Valley OF the Babbling Waters" .... 30 

The Florida Orange 33 

The Tuberose 34 

Captain Mayne Reid .35 

A Heliotype 36 



XU CONTENTS. 

HCMBERT AT NaPLES 30 

The Robin in August 40 

The Frigate Bird 43 

PROSE. 

Frances Anne Kemble 48 

The Arnold Arboretum 69 

The Gray Pine 75 

Three Italians ' . . 78 

Rain in New England ........ 91 

The Weakness of an Oath 97 

Woodland Culture 100 

A SOMERVILLE TrEE 103 

Some Minor Poets of America 107 

Formation of the Constitution of the United States . 122 
Burlesque Fables 

The Sensitive Saw 154 

" Votageur and the Beaver 155 

" Tree and the March Wind 1 56 

" Sorrowing Crocodile 157 

" Hen and the Duckling 158 

" Surly Ai 159 

« Tranquil Hoe 160 

" Merciful Anaconda 161 

" Gladiator and the Lion 163 

" Humble Bumble-bee 164 

" Pleasant Pheasant 165 

" Goat's Retort 166 

" Discreet Cadi 167 

" Chanticleer and his Hens 168 

« Happy Harpy 169 



CONTENTS. xm 

The Fly and thk Ox 171 

Mathematical Milkmaid ..... 172 

Eel and the alewife ...... 174 

Warrior and the Foster Child .... 175 

Awkward Aardvark 176 

Sociable Kidling 177 

Squirrel, the Cougar and the Python . . 178 

Expectant Fisherman 180 

Kind Camel 181 

Two Earth-worms 183 

Peasant and the Romanoff 184 

Foxhound and Her Puppies 185 

Crab and the Clam 186 

Traveller's Testimony 187 

Old Gnu 188 

Ant and the Elephant 191 

Cow and the Pe-wee 191 

Emulous House-cat 193 

Sultan, the Mufti, and the Grand Vizier . . 194 

Honorable Horse 195 

Bear and the Puma 198 

Gentleman and the Stranger .... 199 

Grateful Adder 200 

Two Iguanas 201 



The Wild Rose 204 



FRESH POND. 

Lake Como lies, a jewel bright, 

On Europe's breast, revered, admired ; 
When first she greets the poet's sight 

He writes her praise with pen inspired. 
Fair Como's banks I shall not see ; 

Yet fate will ne'er bid me despond, 
While I can stray in peace by thee, 

" My own, my beautiful," Fresh Pond. 

When summer comes with glowing feet, 

How bright a presence then is thine 1 
Thy tiny breakers, rippling sweet. 

Make music with the sighing pine. 
Fair Belmont's woody slopes arise, 

With varied hue of grass and tree ; 
Her sun-lit forests touch the skies ; 

Her shadowed meadows dip to thee. 



POEMS. 

Old ocean tells a grander tale ; 

A wilder beauty is his pride ; 
But death is harnessed to his gale, 

And doubt and dread his billows ride. 
But gentle paths thy waters trace, 

And grateful breezes ever blow 
To chase the fervor from thy face, 

And kiss the beauty on thy brow. 

But summer leaves thee, too, at last, 

And autumn paints the plain and hill, 
Till winter comes with cruel blast. 

And binds thy pulsing waters still. 
Then whitened meadows share thy fears. 

And leafless boughs look down with pain. 
Till spring in pity drops her tears. 

And bids thee bloom to life again. 

How kindly nature greets us all. 

Who seek some pleasure at her hands ! 
Her friendships stand when others fall, 

And years but lengthen out the bands. 
My boyhood brightened with thy gleam. 

And still I feel the magic wand 
That leads me to thy whispering stream, 

" My own, my beautiful," Fresh Pond. 



POEMS. 

THE TURN-STONE.* 

Hail 1 busy bird, with back of brown, 
With sooty sides and speckled crown. 
With eager eyes e'er looking down 

In searching sight, 
Will nothing fair in field or town 

Attract your flight? 

Have you no wish to feel the breeze 
That pushes through the lofty trees ? 
To rise with lark from flowery leas, 

At dawning day ? 
Or wheel with gull above the seas 

In search of prey ? 

Is it with you a thing of dread 

To leave these sands you daily tread, 

And fly where brighter scenes are spread 

Than these you view? 
Or is this beach and river's bed 

The world to you? 



* A bird so-called on account of its habit of turning over stonea to seek 
itfi food beneath. 



POEMS. 

A cruel thing with us 'tis known, 
When asked for bread to give a stone ; 
But you must have the stone, 'tis shown. 

Ere you are fed ; 
A push, a toss, 'tis overthrown. 

And lo, your bread. 



THE TOAD'S LAMENT. 

A sunny day in early June 
I sought the garden shade, 

To solve a question in my mind — 
Why canker worms were made. 

As thus I mused, I heard a sigh. 
As though some heart were wrung, 

And peering through a leafy hedge, 
I saw from whence it sprung. 

Down in the moist, half-hidden soil. 
Where ants and chickweed creep, 

A toad had wandered in despair. 
And turned aside to weep. 



fOEMS. 

" Why weepest thou," asked I of him, 
" When all around is gay ? 
The merry birds are wild with joy, 
And sing the livelong day. 

" The honey-bee, though toiling still, 
Moves cheerily and glad ; 
The air is soft, the earth is fair. 
And only thou art sad." 

" Alas ! kind sir," he meekly said, 
" Canst thou in wonder gaze ? 
' Tis this that bids the tear to flow ; 
No poet sings my praise. 

" Each opening year, as bashful spring 

Steps forth upon the scene. 
An hundred voices hail her biith. 
And praise her robe of green. 

" The violet peeps through the turf 
At its appointed time, 
And straight the color of its face 
Is told the world in rhyme. 



POEMS. 

" And when the bluebh'd from the liill 
Salutes the morning gale, 
Euterpe strikes again the chords, 
To tell the tuneful tale. 

" For bird, and bee, and butterfly. 
Her welcome paeans thrill ; 
But when I join the festive throng, 
Why then the harp is still." 

" 'Tis true," said I, " she slights your worth, 

Yet somewhere have I read, 
The greatest bard of all has praised 
The jewel in your head." 

At this remark he checked his grief 

To lend a listening ear ; 
And even speared a thoughtless fly 

That rashly came too near. 

The crumb of comfort I had dropped. 

Or else the juicy fly. 
Soon drove the sorrow from his voice, 

The tear-drop from his eye. 



TOEMS. 



" THE FIRST INSPIRATION OF COLUMBUS." 

ON EXHIBITION AT THE BOSTON MUSEUM OF FINE AETS. 

O, Sculptor, we do thank thee 
For this touching thought ; 
And we thank thee for the patience 
And the skillful toil that wrought 
From the mute and shapeless marble, 
Such a scene of sober joy, 
As the earnest contemplation 
Of this young Italian boy. 

He is seated by the water. 
With a volume at his knee. 
But his eyes have left its pages, 
And they rest upon the sea. 
For a fascinating fancy 
From the treasured book has flown. 
And he fain would know it further. 
Though it led to depths unknown. 



POEMS. 

Yes, a germ of precious value 
Has found refuge in a breast, 
That will shelter it in safety 
Through seasons of unrest ; 
Will give it strength and vigor 
When the shafts of scorn are hurled. 
And bid it bloom in glory 
O'er the finding of a world. 

The boy is stilled in study, 

But he surely does not see 

The coming years of trial, 

The triumph yet to be. 

Yet around the youthful dreamer 

We as reverently stand. 

As if in pride of manhood 

He touched his new found land. 

So, Sculptor, we do thank thee 
For this chiseled story, dear. 
It strikes a chord responsive, 
And though surrounded here 
By forms of gleaming beauty, 
Sweet creations of pure art, 
' Tis to thine we pay the tribute. 
For it touches most the heart. 



POEMS. 



LINES TO A ROBIN. 

Bon jour ! my little feathered friend ; 

As I lie here in bed, 

I see your sprightly head 
Among the slender twigs that bend 
And shine before the early beams 
That pierce my room, to chide these tardy dreams. 

I love to watch your independent ways ; 

To hear your voice at morn, 

As on the breeze is borne 
The warbling of your joyous hymn of praise. 
I love to see you boldly come in view ; 
But then, monsieur, I love my cherries too. 

And, really, sir, it moves me to the quick — 

As on the leaves is pressed 

Your blushing, dewy breast — 
To see you coolly perch and pick 
The luscious globules, ripe and red, 
That cluster sweet above my sleepy head. 



10 POEMS. 

Your claims to life I will not now dispute, 
Nor will your breakfast stint ; 
But only drop a hint 
About the way your birdship eats that fruit : 
Please finish one, instead of tasting round, 
That we may find ours juicy, full and sound. 



THE RETURN. 



John Howard Payne, author of the fine tragedy of " Brutus " and 
of other plays, and of " Home, Sweet Home," was born in New York 
in 1792, and, after a life of varying fortunes, died in the city of Tunis, 
Africa, while filling the position of United States consul at that place. 
He was there buried ; and, after the lapse of thirty years, his remains 
have been removed for conveyance hither, and, at this date, they are 
on the water. 



Now, on the Blue Atlantic's breast, 
A stately ship is westward speeding, 

And, as she cuts the billow's crest. 

What freightage bears she for our heeding ? 



POEMS. 11 

Has she within her darkened rooms 

The spicy spoils of eastern islands ? 
The costly cloths of distant looms ? 

The golden fruit of sheltered highlands ? 

No ; not for treasures such as these 

She seeks a path of wintry danger ; 
She simply brings across the seas 

Unto his home a long-lost stranger. 

The dust of one who, forced to roam, 

Through many a strange and painful portal, 

So sweetly sung the charms of home, 
The tender strain vibrates immortal. 

Dear Payne 1 beneath thy native skies 
At last thy frame will soon be sleeping ; 

And high the marble shaft may rise 
To hold tliy name in honored keeping. 

But while the shaft or sculptured dome 
May serve a mark for Wonder's finger. 

Where'er thy race erects a home, 

There fondly will thy mem'ry linger. 



12 POEMS. 

THREE STEAMERS. 

With sturdy stroke and steady pace 

The ship had travelled far, 
And now it rode with stately grace 

The bay of Panama. 

Together from the steamer's side. 

We watched the sun go down, 
And saw the tropic twilight glide 

O'er sea, and shore, and town. 

No word to break the silence, save 
One sentence from her mouth, 

" To-morrow, sir, that vessel brave 
Will bear me to the South." 

And through the shades that around us crept, 

A noble form arose ; 
Upon the placid deep it slept 

In strong, sublime repose. 

The buoyant banners floated aft, 
The hull majestic frowned. 
But I loved not the gallant craft. 
For it was southward bound. 



POEMS. 13 



Beyond the slight but mighty band 
That runs the seas between, 

I knew there floated on the strand 
Another ocean queen. 

And soon that ship would travel forth 

And take me farther on, 
But when I thought it pointed north, 

I sought the other one. 

The morrow came ; with flying feet 
Two steamers journeyed far ; 

One sailed the Southern Cross to greet. 
And one the Northern Star. 

And that was all. The dream is o'er ; 

No word from lip or pen ; 
Her smiling eyes I '11 see no more. 

Nor hear her voice again. 

Sometimes the past will come to me 
On mem'ry's grateful tide ; 

I sail again the western sea 
And she is by my side. 



14 POEMS. 

The day has melted like a dream 

Beyond the billows' crest, 
And softly now the moon-beams stream 

Across the ocean's breast. 

The night wind sounds a soothing dirge 

Around the corded poles, 
And stretching far the phosphor surge 

In chastened splendor rolls. 

The stemming waves are dashed to spray, 

The swelling waters part ; 
Whilst in and out along the way 

The daring dolphins dart. 

Back from the swiftly gliding hull 
There gleams a pathway white, 

O'er which through all the day the gull 
Has winged his silent flight. 

Now with the scene comes gently forth 
The music from her mouth ; 

' Tis gone, and I am in the north 
And she is in the south. 



POEMS. 16 



FORT WASHINGTON. 

Yes ! Up with the banner, the tricolored banner, 
The tricolored banner, bespangled with stars. 

Let the flag of our nation 

In bright exultation 
Be raised o'er the fortress, 'midst hearty huzzas. 
Let it wave in its beauty above the tall trees. 
Caressed by the sunbeam and kissed by the breeze. 

The spot that we honor, now silent and lonely, 
Was once freedom's bulwark and liberty's mound. 

Then well may we cherish 

And never let perish 
The bright recollections that cluster it 'round. 
A century faded, it stands here to-day ; 
But who witnessed its birth — they have all passed 
away. 



16 POEMS. 

Some sank to repose in the green northern valleys, 
Lulled gently to rest by the murmuring rills ; 

And some of their number 

As peacefully slumber 
Where the flow of the Santee comes down through the 

hills. 
Each pine of the hillside, each oak of the plain 
Marks a patriot's dwelling, a soldier's domain. 

Here is terror a toy in this cannon dismantled, 
The children climb o'er it and gaze down its bore ; 

Its thunder how humble 

Compared with the rumble 
Of giants that Woolwich might send to our shore ; 
But the men who gave all to the cause it upheld 
Are their deeds yet out-valored, their virtues excelled? 

The flag of our country ! Oh 1 distant the hour 
That shall view its destruction by force or decay. 

Long, long may the nation 

Li bright exultation 
Look upward with pyide where its bright Qolors play 
In grace and in beauty over land, over seas. 
Caressed by the sunbeam and kissed by the breeze. 



POEMS. 17 

THE BLOOMING OF THE CEREUS. 

On sunny slopes, beneath the Cuban skies> 

Behold the weird, the stately cactus rise! 

How bloom? this lovely empress of the isle ? 

Not like the sweet-lipped blossoms of the north ; 

For, wlien from dewy beds, they venture forth 

To pay glad tribute to the god of day, 

She will not heed his steps, but slumbers, while 

Around her couch his furtive glances play. 

But when the tropic twilight shades the scene 

And all is hushed and still, the pallid queen 

Unveils her face, and on her star-lit throne, 

She blooms, she droops, she dies, and all alone. 

To Cuba's purpled hills we need not roam 

To see this gem ; for, in a northern home 

The Cereus dwells, in pampered exile, sweet : 

And when its courteous captors kindly send 

A call, to every neighbor, guest and friend, 

Their halls are thronged, and grace and beauty tread. 

In bright array, the coming life to greet. 

The hoiu^ arriving, the flower lifts its head ; 

Its sepals thrilljits pearly petals partf 

We feel its breath, we see its starry heart. 

One brief, bright joy, then shuts the fading eye, 

O, Beauty, must you always, always die ? 



18 POEMS. 



THE SWORD OF BOLIVAR. 

In the year 1810 an aerolite fell in South America weighing 1500 
pounds, and composed of pure iron. It was purchased by the Colum- 
bian government, and a portion was made into a sword, which was 
presented to General Bolivar, the liberator of three South American 
States. 

Whence came the sword of Bolivar 
The patriot chief of southern climes ? 

Was it exhumed from Grecian soil, 

' Mid buried beds of wreck and spoil, 
Mute chroniclers of early times ? 

Did Spartan hero wield a blade 

That should in after days be made 

To strike again in freedom's war, 

Within the clasp of Bolivar? 

Whence came the sword of Bolivar? 

Did ancient Egypt's bending bronze 
Produce this weapon, strong and true ? 
Or was its length of lustrous blue 

Wrought out by Spanish artisans. 
Whose skill had made Toledo famed 
Of old ; her products named 
Among the first, both near and far? 
Was such the blade of Bolivar? 



POEMS. 19 

Whence came the sword of Bolivar? 

Shall we its noble birthplace find 
With her, Damascus, Syria's pride, 
Where wootz, from India's veins supplied, 

Was changed to steel of rarest kmd ? 
Whose costly sabres, bright and keen. 
With watered sides of shifting sheen, 
No thrust could break, no stroke could mar? 
Did such sustam brave Bolivar? 

No, not of these the hero's sword. 

No relic rare of Sparta's days. 
Nor Egypt's craft, nor Moorish skill. 
Nor famous ore from Indian hill. 

May share the soldier's meed of praise. 
Nor yet was mined m western land 
The metal of the patriot's brand ; 
A blade of rarer being far 
Hewed out a path for Bolivar. 

A restless meteor, far away, 

Departed from its circling sphere ; 
With growing speed it downward shot. 
And struck earth's bosom, hissing hot. 

They tore it up — ' twas iron, clear. 



20 POEMS. 

The furnace glowed, the anvil rung, 
Till, lo, a sword puissant sprung. 
And on Fame's bright, enduring star 
It carved the name of Bolivar. 



ON THE BLUE CARIBBEAN. 

Oh the rolling Caribbean is the grandest of the seas, 
And its tossing, throbbing waters never flow with quiet 

ease; 
But they play m airy beauty, and then- frothing billows 

run 
With the majesty of freedom, as they sparkle in the sun : 

As they sparkle in the morning, when it peeps above 

the plain. 
As they redden in the evening, when it sinks below the 

main ; 
As they silver in the moonbeams, that dance along the 

deep ; 
Oh bright the bounding billows, the waves that 

never sleep. 



POEMS. 21 

The gallant ship beneath us, triumphant, cuts the foam 
And the hissing spray in showers, drops around our 

ocean home ; 
As buoyant as the sea-bird, as joyous and as free. 
Is the sailor in his castle, on the Caribbean sea. 

The morning comes in beauty, and all the sunny day 
The salty breezes, briskly on the snowy canvas play ; 
And who can tell the splendor of the starry, southern 

skies. 
For a night in tropic waters, is a night in Paradise. 

The traveler on the mountain, is enchanted with the 

view ; 
And sweet he finds the meadow, in its bath of summer 

dew. 

The lakes are mimic oceans, and their quiet beauties 
please ; 

But the rolling Caribbean, is the grandest of the seas. 



22 POEMS. 



ON A PORTRAIT OF L. E. L.* 

A fairy form, a winning face, 

An eye through which the soul is glancing, 
A presence rare of sprightly grace, 

A tongue, a pen alike entrancing, 
The glow of youth with beauty's mine. 
Sweet singer of the heart are thine. 

But canker blights the early blooni. 
And mists bedim the valley's beauty ; 

And sorrow came with wings of gloom. 
And clouded o'er thy lycith of duty ; 

Black envy poured for thee her wine, 

To dram the bitter cup was thine. 

A summer sky, an ocean warm, 

And through its blue a bark is speeding ; 
Along its decks a manly form 

A happy bride is fondly leading ; 
Now troubles fly and cares decline, 
And dreams of peace and joy are thine. 

*Letitia E. Landor. 



POEMS. 23 

Alas, too brief their healing grace, 

For tropic towns are full of danger. 
Affliction came with anxious face 

To sup with thee ; but not a stranger ; 
And while she tarried at thy shri^ie 
Thy life went out and death was thine. 



THE HOME OF THE ALBATROSS. 

Where wild southern waters in tumult upheaving, 
Flmg wave after wave upon rock-gii-ded isles. 

Whose spectre-like spires the winter wmd cleavmg. 
Reflect Nature's frowns but reveal not her smiles, 

O'er those desolate crags and that desert of foam. 

The albatross circles and seeks there a home. 

He loves not to tarry by forest and fountain. 

Though brightly they bloom with the freshness of 
spring ; 
He stays not his flight for the pine of the mountain. 
Nor throws on the meadow the shade of his wing. 
But the traversing iceberg mirrors his form 
As he sweeps through the spray to exult with the 
storm. 



24 POEMS. 

For see ! o'er the dome are the black shadows crossing, 
And now they have spread to its uttermost verge, 

The wind-beaten billows in fury are tossing, 

And thick beats the rain on the mist-sheeted surge ; 

But the bird presses onward where perils assail, 

And he pants with delight at the stroke of the gale. 

He speeds through the furrows nor j^auses for wonder, 

When Night in her sables flings round him her pall, 
Exultant he bounds at the burst of the thunder. 

Nor quivers a plume when the blazing bolts fall ; 
Undazzled his eye and undaunted his wing- 
As he wheels at the cry of his fierce tempest-king. 

Long, long is the conflict and Avild the commotion 
When day struggles in through the glimmering gray, 

Then the gusty winds flee from the turbulent ocean. 
And the mists from its bosom roll slowly away ; 

Light glides on the sea as the stormy clouds fly. 

Till the blue of the wave is the blue of the sky. 

His revels are over, and, weary with wheeling. 
The sea-bird stoops down to the billowy deep ; 

A spirit of Lethe comes over him stealing. 
It presses his pinions it stills him in sleep ; 

Securely, serenely he floats with the foam. 

For his bed is the billow, the ocean his home. 



POEMS. 25 



SCALES AND FEATHERS. 

Naturalists say that the Nile-bird, a species of plover, enters the 
mouth of the crocodile, when that reptile is asleep with parted jaws, 
to feed upon the insects that infest the creature's tongue, and tor- 
ment him. 

Stay ! Stay ! audacious plover ! 

How dare you thus to hover, — 
Well, not before the cannon's open mouth ; 

But at a post still stranger — 

As full of seeming danger — 
Around this giant saurian of the south. 

If he should snap and cover 

Your little body, plover, 
Vain then would be all efforts at retreat ; 

Yet, still, all warning mocking, 

You enter without knocking, 
And near those frowning lances take a seat. 

Let Science's self, discover, 

Peculiar, plucky plover ! 
The cause that bids you hasten at his smile, 

And seek to know that wonder 

Whose clasp has cut asunder 
The fated water-drawer of the Nile. 



26 POEMS. 

We'll say he is your lover, 

Infatuating plover ! 
Oh, may he never waver, in the least : 

Then who will e'er be able 

To tell so fair a fable, 
As the wooing of a biped by a beast. 



PAUL REVERE'S FIRST RIDE TO 
LEXINGTON. 

[On the occasion of the visit of the historica pilgrims from Phila- 
delphia to Lexington last summer, the local historians of the town, 
while relating the incidents of the nineteenth of April, 1775, did not 
fail to tell them of Paul Revere's visit to Lexington on the preceding 
Sunday. Li a letter written some years afterward in compliance with 
a request, Revere, while relating the story of the " midnight ride," 
mentions his trip of the sixteenth of the morith. -'The Sunday 
before," he says, " by desire of Dr. Warren, I had been to Lexington 
to Messrs. Hancock and Adams, who were at the Rev. Mr. Clark's. 
I returned at night through Charlestown ; there I agreed with a 
Colonel Conant and some other gentlemen, that if the British went 
out by water, we would show two lanthorns in the North church 
steeple, and if by land, one, as a signal; for we were apprehensive it 
would be difficult to cross the Charles River, or get over Boston 
Neck." 



POEMS. 27 

Such is the plain narration of this event by the hero horseman of 
the revolution himself. Though less celebrated than the ride of 
Tuesday night, this Sunday visit to Lexington is deemed l^y some 
writers an important act. The opinion is formed from the fact that 
the colonists were enabled to remove most of their cannon and a por- 
tion of their stores from Concord to Groton ; thus in a measure defeat- 
ing the object of the expedition planned by Gage. It would also 
seem that the presence of so many minute men from distant towns at 
Concord early in the mornmg of the nineteenth was due to this first 
message of warning.] 



List ! patriots all, that ycm may hear 
Of the daylight ride of Paul Revere. 
And if perchance no charm I bring 
By the tale I tell and the song I sing, 
Remember, that " moon," and " fog," and " tide" 
Are things that go with a midnight ride. 

' Twas Sunday morn in Boston town. 

And fifteen April days had fled : 

When Paul Revere from his room looked down 

On the waters blue of the bay and said, 

" ' Tis plain tlie troops intend some move. 

Now, I may serve the cause I love 

If I ride forth this April morn 

To Lexington, and Hancock warn." 



28 POEMS. 

Then went Revere, the brave, the true, 

But, you see, I cannot tell the route ; 

For of ways, it seems, there then were two. 

And the chosen way remains in doubt. 

If by the " neck " he did repair ; 

'Twould be six miles to Harvard square ; 

But if he crossed to the Cambridge shore. 

As the British did in two days more. 

He would gain the Milk Row road, which run 

To Menotomy and Lexington. 

But forth he went, and fair and bright 

Seemed the world to him, as he rode along ; 

The green blades throve in the tender light. 

And soft through the vales came the bluebird's song, 

While above were the apple-boughs blossoming, 

For they had that year an " early spring." 

And the sun lay warm in the village street 
As the rider reached his journey's end, 
And hurried down his chief to greet, 
Who welcome gave his trusted friend : 
And asked what news he had to tell 
Of the seaside town they loved so well, 



POEMS. 29 

Then Paul Revere the message gave, 
That Gage had planned a stealthy blow ; 
And that the cannon they might save, 
He had been sent that they should know 
The purpose of their wily foe. 

And when the day was in its wane 
The trusty messenger withdrew. 
And cU*awing once again the rein, 
He bade his civic chief adieu, 
With promise that by day and night 
The grenadiers should be in sight ; 
That when they moved he would not fail 
To speed away and spread the tale. 

Then Tuesday night came on apace ; 

And Paul Revere from the Charlestown shore. 

Booted and spurred as for a race. 

Toward Lexington rode forth once more. 

And, now I'm in it, I think I'll tell 

In some further lines of what befell 

The horseman bold on this second time. 

But no ! It has all been told in rhyme. 



30 POEMS. 



"THE VALLEY OF THE BABBLING WATERS." 

THE DEOP-CUETAIN AT THE GAIETY THEATRE. 

How pleased is the eye as the curtain descending 

Unfolds to its vision this land of delight ; 
This garden of nature where streamlets are wending 

Their musical footsteps through banks that are bright. 
In the freshness of freedom they burst from the 
mountains, 

Over rocks, over mosses, their jewels they flmg ; 
Now they murmur in rills, now they ripple in fountains ; 

We hear not their voices, but we know that they 
sing. 

Down the slopes of the hillsides the shadows are 

straying, 

And light on the lowlands their mantles they lay ; 

But the mountain peaks rise where the sunbeams are 

playing, 

And their faces still glow at the last touch of day. 



POEMS. 31 

Imposing the line of those sentinels sombre, 

And faithful their watch o'er the sweet valley's 
length. 

The valley lies stretched in the stillness of slumber ; 
The mountains stand forth in the stillness of strength. 

On the velvety green the tall cedars are thriving, 

Some grouped into clusters, some single are bound, 
And some up the rugged escarpments are striving, 

As if longing to gaze on the wild world around. 
And lo ! on the bank is the Indian's frail dwelling, 

And, spymg its master, our fancy will play, 
And seek out the thoughts in his rude bosom swelling, 

As he sits by his tent at the close of the day. 

Does he feel that his hut is a room in a palace ? 

A palace where freedom and happiness meet? 
That he drinks the bright drops of a life-giving chalice, 

When he sips of the waters that flow at his feet ? 
Does his memory recall through the dreamy expansion 

The days when the snowfall lay thick on the plain ? 
How the north wind came downward to sack his brave 
mansion ? 

How it beat on the structure, and beat there in vain ? 



32 POEMS. 

Now he starts from his musings, for there comes 
slowly winding, 

Through the rock-columned portals a wandering band, 
And their leader draws rein at so suddenly finding 

His dreary path lead to this new promised land. 
The steed lifts his head, and his dull eye grows brighter, 

As he sees stretched before him the cool, blooming 
plain, 
And the heart of his rider grows stronger and lighter, 

As he meets the sweet calm of the red man's domain. 

Now the lights dimly burn, for the acting is over. 

And the player and patron pass out in the night ; 
The sigh of the maiden, the song of the lover, 

They have melted away like so much that is bright. 
And the darkness that hangs o'er the city's dense 
quarters 

Spreads silently forth through the land of the west. 
And as lightly it falls on that valley of waters, 

As the presence of sleep on the weary one's breast. 



POEMS. 33 



THE FLORIDA ORANGE. 

For steady ways and sterling worth 
Our honest apple of the North 
Has gained a name ; but if to suit 
A taste that craves some dainty fruit, 
We beg to roll into such mouth 
Our spotted orange of the South. 

O, rusty ball, we own, 'tis true, 

You do not have that gorgeous hue 

Of ruddy gold that she 

Your sister wears from o'er the sea. 

But then 'tis but skin-deep, that's all — 

We'll not refuse a rusty ball. 

And yet their claims we cannot slight, 
Valencia's beauties burning bright, 
For memory, leadmg us away. 
Restores to us some boyhoods' day. 
When, touched with fortune's sunny hour. 
We drew their juices, rich — but sour. 



34 POEMS. 

But you are tartness tempered down. 
And, later come, have quickly grown 
In favor for the wealth you hide 
Within ; and 'tis a cause for pride 
That in our native land we meet 
A fruit so juicy, sound — and sweet. 



THE TUBEROSE. 



How lovely is the tuberose, 
Its slender stalk ascends 

With stately grace above the walk 
And then it gently bends 
To view the spot from whence it rose ; 
How lovely is the tuberose. 

And soon the bursting buds disclose 
Their pointing petals pure and white. 

They beautify the hours of day 
And deck the sable veil of night, 
Perfuming every wind that blows ; 
How lovely is the tuberose. 



POEMS. 35 

The subtle odor softly flows 
In noiseless, viewless rills, 

It bubbles at the blossom's bu-th. 
Its fleeting life with fragrance fills 
And soothes it at the gentle close. 
How lovely is the tuberose. 

So thus the lovely flower shows 
How sweet a life may bloom, 

To come in beauty, peace, and joy. 
To wear a smile in days of gloom. 
To die with love for friend and foes ; 
How lovely is the tuberose. 



CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. 

A friendly face has passed from sight, 

A voice has lost its thrill, 

And 'neath a mound of England's soil 

An honored heart lies still ; 

And thousands pause and breathe a sigh 

That he, their boyhood's friend, should die. 



36 POEMS. 

Twice kissed by Fame ! beneath our flag 
He sought her first, and then 
He threw away his trusty sword 
And wooed her with his pen ; 
And men remember now their spell, 
Those tales that once they loved so well. 

And he is gone ! Oh may the lark 

Sing sweet above his rest, 

And summer send her dews to cool 

The turf that wraps his breast ; 

And though no more for him the morn 

Shall spread her banners bright. 

His " Desert Home " will long remam 

To boyish eyes a light. 



A HELIOTYPE. 



A picture hangs upon the wall, 
The echo of a paintmg we 
This picture hanging here may call. 
At least as such it seems to me. 



POEMS. 

For once the scene that here is traced, 
A painter on the canvas phxced ; 
And now by Art's retentive call, 
His work is hanging on my wall. 

Persepolis ! lone, desert ground ! 
No more the " Glory of the East " — 
Bright name that once thy splendors crowned 
With wondrous halls of mirth and feast, 
With palaces and temples rare, 
And gardens green and fountains fair ; 
Bright was thme era — great thy fall ; 
Pride, place and power, stripped of all. 

Three kings, three mighty kings of old 
Stretched forth to bid thy grandeur soar ; 
Each strove to push thy beauties bold. 
And leave thee nobler than before : 
'Til he, earth's greatest warrior came, 
And crossed thy brow with blood and flame : 
Then Time, his helper, sealed thy fall. 
Thick shrouding thee with ruin's pall. 



37 



38 POEMS. 

Of all that once with glory glared, 
These crumbling stones alone remain; 
These straggling columns time hath spared, 
To hold their watch above the plam. 
Where pageants passed with princely pride, 
The lizard lurks, the wild beasts hide 
And silent steal along the wall, 
Or, roaring, mock their fellows' call. 

Destruction dire ! then decay ! 
Yet need no idle tear-drop flow, 
That Desolation here holds sway. 
And plants her foot on might laid low ; 
For striving, man again from this 
May rear a new Persepolis : 
Again the morning light may fall 
On sparkling roof and sculptured wall. 

But he, the Macedonian chief. 
The spoiler of the Persian's pride. 
Whose callous heart held but one grief, 
That not all earth's blood his sword had dyed, 
His passions brought his name disgrace ; 
And none the stain may e'er efface : 
Man's record here none may recall, 
'Tis written once, and once for all. 



POEMS. 3& 

HUMBERT AT NAPLES. 

A queenly city stands to-night 

With drooping head and heart of woe, 

Her smitten children crouch in fright, 

Or rush in terror to and fro ; 

They dare not stay, they dare not go, 

For death stalks on with fearful stride 

Through Naples, by the water side : 

He shoots his arrows hard and fast; 
The young, the old, the brave, the fair, 
Sink down before the deadly blast. 
Their death-cry loads the poisoned air, 
And Sorrow's step is everywhere ; 
For strongest hearts are forced to moan. 
As helper with the helped goes down. 

Yet strongest hearts are steadfast there ; 
And one there is whose presence cheers ; 
He plans and guides with kindly care. 
And feeds the sick and soothes their fears. 
Who is he thus his name endears ? 
'Tis he, the wearer of the crown. 
Who makes his people's woes, his own. 



40 POEMS. 

Ah ! this is the test of royalty, 

To solace in the hour of need ; 

To brave the foe that others see, 

To share the pain with hearts that bleed ; 

Who doeth this is prince indeed. 

And so the laurel leaf we fling, 

For Humbert stands twice-crowned a king. 



THE ROBIN IN AUGUST. 

Good morrow, Sir ! how is't with you. 

Brave tenant of the tree ? 
When ruddy flushes fill the east. 

How sure are we to see 
Your birdship up and dressed, betimes. 

In scarlet, black and gray, 
Prepared to meet and overcome 

The labors of the day. 



POEMS. 41 

And still as high you hold your head, 

Still glances, bright your eye, 
As when, with April's truce to storm, 

You sought our northern sky ; 
And yet we greet you with regret 

And feel there's something wrong, 
For though we thrice good morning bid. 

You send us back no song. 

It was not so when first you came. 

For then at breezy dawn 
Your greeting to the waking world 

Across the field was borne, 
And thi'ough the softening hours of May 

And twilightrscenes of June, 
The story of your life and love 

Was sweetly told in tune. 

But now, when half your task is done, 

With house in good repair. 
And sons and daughters sent abroad 

Your honored name to bear. 
With consciousness of bearing well 

The burdens of a bird. 
Except the tocsin of alarm 

We get from you no word. 



42 POEMS. 

In pity, Sir ! it may not be 

Alike with birds and men : 
To build their castles in the air 

With songs of joy, and then 
To droop beneath their sun of life, 

And chide his humble beams 
Because they miss some rosy ray 

That tinged their early dreams. 

If such a cause has stilled your voice, 

Sweet warbler ! it is wrong ; 
For lowly labors, well fulfilled. 

Should but increase your song. 
No answer yet? Then go in peace 

Until another spring ; 
And then, trim tourist of the lawn 

We'll hope to hear you sing. 



POEMS. 43 



THE FRIGATE BIRD. 

The frigate, or man-of-war bird as it is sometimes called, is an 
inhabitant of most all of the warm seas, and is interesting on account 
of its courage and audacity and its marvellous power of flight. A 
glance at a specimen will show wherein this power lies. The body 
is comparatively small, and light and slender ; while the wings are 
strongly made and of an unusual expanse, those of a full-grown bird 
measuring, when spread, six or seven feet from tip to tip. In fact the 
ratio between the size of its wings and that of its body being the 
greatest among birds. 

The statement that it robs the gannet of the lish that it has taken 
is denied by some natmalists on the ground that the latter, being a 
larger bird, could protect its rights ; but a comparison of the two 
birds shows the wings of the frigate bird to be superior in strength of 
build, and its legs and claws more fitted for combat. 

These advantages together with the fact that the gannet or sea- 
goose or booby as it is sometimes called from its apparent stupidity, 
is a peaceable bird, render it probable that the frigate bird does 
pounce upon and attack him savagely with beak, wings and talons, 
force him to drop or even disgorge his prey if swallowed and then 
descendtog rapidly, catch it before it reaches the sea. 

Where fervid winds blow softly o'er 
A sunny sea, a blooming shore, 
Where shining waters roll and flow 
'Twixt islands wrapped in summer's glow 
There, high above that land and sea 
On trackless highways far and free 
He sails along on fearless wing. 
The Frigate bird, the Tropic's king. 



44 POEMS. 

No need hath he by day or night, 
To stay that strong and stately flight ; 
The palm tree's bough, the headland's crest. 
Far, far behind, he leaves unpressed. 
And when by swift and ruthless hand 
The smile is swept from sea and strand, 
And driven clouds pour out their rain 
And tears along a hurricane. 
He mounts above to realms of peace 
And mocks the howling storm's increase. 

The tropic sun at birth of day 
Across the wave again is peeping ; 
The tropic sun with lessening ray 
By day's death-bed again is weeping : 
Thus thrice it comes, and thrice it goes. 
And thrice the night in beauty grows, 
And still, untouched his pinion's grace. 
The bird soars round in heavenly space. 

Oh ! fierce is the swoop of the frigate bird. 
The flying fish by danger spurred, 
In hasty panic quits its home 
And feebly flits above the foam. 



POEMS. 45 

Ill-fated thing ! — yet man might make 
In peril's hour as grave mistake — 
The creature clears the dolphin's jaws 
To quiver in the sea-birds claws. 

The massive gannet breasts the spray 

And from the billow pulls his prey 

And bears it off on joyous wing ; 

But hold ! with lightning in its spring 

That eagle watcher of the skies 

Darts down and claims the glistening jDrize ; 

The fisher feels his triumph brief, 

And yields it to his pirate chief. 

Now turns at last the Frigate bird, 
His heart by softer feelings stirred. 
And sweeping through the ether blue 
Impelled along by instinct true. 
He nears his distant island rest ; 
He finds his mate, his twig-built nest ; 
Then closely folds his conquered wing ; 
For love has tamed the Tropic king. 



PROSE. 



FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 

I have chosen to write about a person, whose name 
and mdividuality, a generation ago were familiar to the 
people of two continents : and it seems as though the 
fault must be mine if the sketch proves uninteresting 
for the lives of few, certainly of few women, have been 
so filled with incident as the life of the subject of this 
paper. United with her own personal history is the 
story of her kindred ; among whom individuals of more 
or less renown are frequently noted. In pursuing tlie 
career of Miss Kemble, we have to treat with an actress, 
an author, a house-keeper, a society belle ; we are led 
from the old world to the new, from the new to the 
old ; into the drawing-rooms of English nobility, into the 
barren cabins of the southern slaves ; into the school- 
rooms of Paris, into the peaceful farm-houses of inland 
Massachusetts. We have presented to us the promment 
people of two hemispheres, and led on by the facile pen 
of Miss Kemble herself, we seldom find our interest 
flagging in the pursuit. In the story of her career, then 
we see a person into whose life has been crowded much 



PROSE. 49 

excitement and joy, and much of sorrow ; one who is 
brilliant and gifted, but not great : who is sometimes 
gay, often sad, but always interesting. 

To give at once some necessary biography we will 
say that Frances Anne Kemble was born in London in 
1809. Her father, Chas. Kemble, was of that family 
who, as a band of strolling players, acting in barns 
throughout England, by their wonderful talents made 
for themselves reputations as enduring as can be made 
in their calling. Her mother, like the wife of Garrick, 
was a Viennese dancer, a sensible, accomplished woman, 
and a writer of light plays. 

A fine, scholarly actor, Charles Kemble was excelled 
in his art by a brother and sister, John P. Kemble and 
Sarah Siddons, both of whom were truly great. The 
Kembles, besides the physical qualifications necessary 
for the stage, possessed intellectual gifts and personal 
worth to such a degree that something more than the 
evanescent fame of an actor has been theirs. 

At seven years of age, her father being then in pros- 
perous circumstances. Miss Fanny was sent to school in 
Boulogne, France, returning to England at the age of 
nme ; she remained at home four years and was then sent 
to a school in Paris, from which she was called home at 
the age of seventeen by her father s changed fortunes. 



50 PROSE. 

The actor, unfortunately, had become interested hi 
Covent Garden, a large theatre which John P. Kemble 
had built, and managed at a heavy loss, finally making 
over his share in the concern to his brother Charles. 
The place proved as heavy a burden to him, as may be 
judged from what Miss Kemble afterwards wrote — 
" Of the eighty thousand pounds which my uncle sank 
in building Covent Garden, and all the years of toil my 
father and myself and sister sank in endeavoring to 
sustain it, nothing remained to us at my father's death." 
It was not the wish of Miss Fanny, nor of her parents, 
that she should go upon the stage ; but closely watch- 
ing her father, she saw that he felt that assistance was 
needed, and that her services, much as he disliked to 
use them, might be of great value. The matter was at 
last openly broached and overcoming the objections of 
her mother, the girl decided to follow the profession of 
her people. With six weeks preparation she Avas ready 
for her task : the opening play was Shakspere\s Romeo 
and Juliet, her father playing Mercutio, and her mother, 
returning to the stage for a single night. Lady Capulet. 
Her success came at once, and after enacting Juliet for 
thirty nights, she appeared in a number of characters. 
Next came a play of her own composing — The Tragedy 
of Francis the First. That the fair young actress should 



PROSE. 51 

prove a writer, increased the interest of the town ; but 
as she wrote of it, it was this curiosity and not any 
merit of the piece which drew people to see it per- 
formed. This play, written in blank verse, appears at 
once the product of a mind influenced by familiarity 
with Shakspere and other old dramatists, and the striv- 
ing to maintain their elevated style is always apparent. 
Still for a schoolgirl of seventeen to write such a piece, 
and at twenty-one to enact the leaclmg part was a 
noticeable event. It abounds with choice language, the 
following sentence, it seems to me, being capable of 
standing forth. 

Queen. Come hither sirrah ; now the day is done 
and night with swarthy hands is sewing stars in yonder 
sky. 

After a few nights another new play was produced — 
The Hunchback of Sheridan Knowles ; Miss Kemble 
enacted the leading part, Julia, the author appearing as 
Master Walter. The part of Julia she made especially 
her own, and in this country was liked in it perhaps 
above all. 

About this time she finished a second tragedy, The 
Star of Seville, upon which she had been engaged for 
a long time. It appears somewhat superior in literary 
merit to the first ; it was not acted. Francis the First 



52 PROSE. 

was bought by a London Publisher for twenty-two 
hundred dollars. 

From her " Records of a GMhood " we see that this 
sudden change and brilliant success did not turn her 
head, and that her greatest pleasures were in her own 
home ; the diary for one day saying — " went to the thear 
tre, afterward played Juliet, after the play went home 
where we all acted charades and proverbs." 

These two remarkable books, " Records of a Girl- 
hood," and " Records of Later Life," consist prmcipally 
of a series of letters written by Miss Kemble to her 
friend Miss St. Leger. Meeting, when young, at the 
house of a mutual acquaintance in England, an intimacy 
sprang up between them which never lessened. In all 
her various occupations, in all her wandermgs. Miss 
Kemble constantly communicated with this friend of 
her youth, and after a period of forty years, after she 
had passed the age of sixty, her friend returned the let- 
ters at her request : they were published, and thus form 
a story of an eventful life. 

After acting three years in England, her father decided 
to cross the ocean with his daughter. Accordmgly on 
the first of August, 1832, Chas. Kemble, Fanny and her 
aunt, embarked on a packet for New York. It was be- 
fore the days of transatlantic steamers, and the vessel was 



PROSE. 53 

thirty-four days on the passage. Miss Kemble kept a 
journal of her life on this ship, and of her American tour 
with her father : this published narrative forms most m- 
terestmg readmg. Her descriptions of what she saw, 
what she did, and whom she met, are racy and vivid : her 
language is sometimes over flowery, and the transitions 
from philosophical reasonmgs or sentimental descrip- 
tive to matter-of-fact record are sudden enough. Here 
is a bit from the sea-story — " After tea, for the first 
time since I have been on board, got hold of a pack of 
cards, — - Oh, that it should ever come to this, — and 
initiated Miss H. into the mysteries of the intellectual 
game. How my home rose before me as I did so. 
Played till I was tired, dozed, and finally came to bed. 
Bed quotha! 'tis a frightful misapplication of terms. 
Oh for a bed ; a real bed, any manner of bed, but a 
bed on shipboard. Yet I have seen some fau" things. 
I have seen a universe of air and Avater; I have seen 
the glorious sun come and look down on this rolling 
sapphire ; I have seen the moon throw her silver col- 
umns along the watery waste ; I have seen one lonely 
ship in her silent walk across this wilderness, meet an- 
other, greet her, and pass her by, like a dream on the 
wide, mde deep. I have seen what I would not but 
have seen, though I have left mj^ very soul behind me, 



54 PROSE, 

England ! dear England ! Oh for a handful of your 
earth." 

Shortly after arrival in New York, the two artists 
began their work ; success soon came to them here as 
elsewhere through this country : leaving New York 
for a while they went to Philadelphia and then returned 
to the former city to fulfill another engagement. Their 
success was well-earned. Charles Kemble's scholarly 
and refined impersonations of Hamlet and other charac- 
ters in tragedy were in their way, the best perhaps that 
the new world had ever seen ; his daughter brought to 
her task youth, beauty, intelligence, industry and the 
inspiration that comes from a name and a reputation. 
She lacked the commanding figure and probably most of 
the genius which raised her aunt, Sarah Siddons, to the 
very highest dramatic plane. She brought no devotion 
to her art, no enthusiasm for it, for its sake. She 
analyzed it coldly and keenly and her estimate of it was 
filled with a tone of disfavor based largely upon truth, 
and written perhaps with sadness. 

Here are remarks from her journal, at this time, when 
she nightly received the plaudits, and by day the marked 
attention of the people of New York, when her career 
was one continued triumph — "Whilst the poems, the 
sculptures of the old Grecian time yet remain to these 



PROSE. 55 

latter ages the enduring life of truth and beauty, — 
wliilst the j)oets of Rome surviving the trophies of her 
thousand victories, are yet familiar in our mouths, whilst 
Dante, Boccaccio, and Michael Angelo yet live and 
breathe and have their being amongst us tlirough the 
rich legacy their genius has bequeathed to time, whilst 
the wild music of Salvator Rosa, solemn and sublime as 
his painting, yet sings in our ears, and the souls of 
Shakspere, Milton, Raphael, and Titian, are yet shed- 
ding into our souls divinest influences from the very 
fountains of inspiration, where are the pageants that 
night after night during the best era of dramatic excel- 
lence riveted the gaze of thousands and drew forth their 
acclamations? — gone, like rosy sunset clouds, fair 
painted vapors ; lovely to the sight, but vanishing as 
dreams, leaving no trace in heaven, no token of their 
ever being there. Where are the labors of Garrick, 
Maclin, Cook, Kemble or Mrs. Siddons? What have 
these great actors left either to delight the sense, or 
elevate the soul, but barren names, unwedded to a single 
lasting evidence of greatness. To me it seems no art, 
but merely a highly rational, mteresting and exciting 
amusement, and I think that men may as well, much 
better perhaps, spend three hours in a theatre than in a 
billiard or bar-room, and this is the extent of my appro- 



56 PROSE. 

bation and admiration of my art. Called on Mrs. H. 
whom I like very much. Went to the riding school to 
try a new horse ; which was ten hands high, all covered 
with shaggy, angry looking hair, with a donkey's head 
and cart-horse legs, Avith one of which he peached. 
While there saw Dr. S's horse standing with a man's 
saddle on. Asked J. to help me mount him and then 
sent him away. Rode round for an hour without a 
pommel and found that I managed it famously." 

The Kembles next went to Baltimore. They found 
the theatre there less convenient, though the audiences 
were good, and they made pleasant acquaintances during 
their stay. Miss Fanny was told of a conversation, con- 
cerning her, between two negro servants ; one asked of 
the other — " Have you seen de new missus at de 
theatre ? " " No sah ! I have had the pleasure of seeing 
Miss Kemble in private society"; — he was the man who 
brought the horse round from the stable to the hotel 
steps when she went riding. 

Washington was next visited. Jackson was then at 
the head of the nation, and the Kembles called at the 
White House ; the daughter was impressed with the 
plain honest manners of the soldier-president. While 
staying at the capitol the first real unpleasant experience 
occurred. An English friend asked Miss Fanny to go 



PROSE. 



57 



riding one day, and brought with him a young American 
who furnished her a horse, and went with them; on 
their way the young lady became displeased with her 
animal and said jokingly to the Englishman that she did 
not like American horses and would give him two dol- 
lars to let her ride his. Two or three days afterwards, 
returnmg to her room one day, she found her father 
there looking very much vexed ; a middle-aged man 
with an anxious face sat in front of him. " Fanny," 
said he, " something very unpleasant has happened. 
What did you say on your ride last Thursday ? This 
gentleman tells me it has caused great comment, and 
that unless I retract it and apologize for it, you will be 
hissed off the stage to-night." The young lady related 
the conversation and the circumstances. " Well," said 
the stranger, " it has caused considerable feelmg here : 
fifty congressmen have been to me about it," and he 
arose and took his leave of them. She went to the 
theatre that night with fear and trembling, but the an- 
ticipated unfriendly demonstration did not occur. This 
episode as Avell as many other observations which she 
made and noted down, show us how different and 
changed is the present state of the nation from that of 
fifty years ago. The national feeling was then intensely 
strong. The manners of the people, as seen through 



58 PEOSE. 

lier pages, certainly appear in marked contrast, in every 
walk of life, and whether it is for the better or the 
worse it is apparent that America is becoming less 
American every day. 

A return to New York, a tour through the state and 
then a journey to Boston. 

The young lady's journal is filled with praises of the 
Sound steamboat. If it wasn't quite so long ago I 
should think that the boat might be " the largest, 
stanchest and most palatial excursion steamer in the 
world," making daily trips to points of interest in 
Boston Bay, for the last few summers. Fare '^1. 

The descriptions of Boston and its suburbs are no less 
interesting because those places are familiar ones. 
Cambridge, Mt. Auburn, Fresh Pond, Blue Hills, 
Chelsea Beach, and Bunker Hill are all recognized. 
Miss Fanny goes to the State House and is confronted 
at once with Chantrey's Statue of Washington, which 
she had seen years before on the other side of the water 
in his studio. She starts for the cupola, and makes the 
common mistake of striding briskly up the first few 
steps till she is out of breath, and then toil up the long 
remainder to find a hazy sky and a strong cold wind 
blowing through, and so comes down again. From her 
rooms in the Tremont House she could look across at 



PROSE, 59 

the old Tremont Theatre, where she and her father 
played their engagement, and see the crowds besiegmg 
the ticket office, a sight which must have been con- 
ducive to vanity. She mentions one expedient that 
seems to have been neglected of late years, one that 
some of us might use some time. It seems that some of 
the men who wanted choice seats dressed as laborers 
and smeared their clothes with grease and molasses so 
that the crowd would not press them too closely while 
they were securing their seats. 

At Philadelphia, Miss Kemble was introduced to the 
writer, Catharine Sedgwick, and the result was a long 
and intimate friendship between the two. An eventful 
change was soon to come in her life. In one of the 
cities she became acquainted with Mr. Pierce Butler, a 
southern planter who spent his winters north, and in 
June, 1834, they were united in marriage. A farewell 
to the stage was taken ; Charles Kemble returned to 
England, and his daughter went with her husband to 
his northern home in Philadelphia. In November, 1836, 
she returned to England with her child and nurse, endur- 
ing a dangerously stormy passage of twenty-eight days. 
After a pleasant visit with her parents of a few months, 
during which she renewed her acquaintance with Lon- 
don society, she returned to America by a voyage of 



60 PROSE. 

thirtj-seven clays, and resumed her home in Philadel- 
phia, where she received a visit from INIrs. Jameson, who 
was then traveling in this country. 

In the fall of 1838, Mr. Butler took his wife and 
children to his rice and cotton plantations in Georgia. 
One being on Butler Island, the other on St. Simon's 
Island. These islands are situated on the Atlantic 
coast, at the mouth of the Altamaha or Alatamaha, as 
the full Indian word is, and one or both of them ma.y be 
seen on maps of the southern states. Her journey 
thither and her life there were regularly chronicled in a 
long series of letters to Miss Elizabeth Sedgwick, the 
sister of the authoress. 

Thoroughly distasteful was the new life in the south ; 
perhaps to an Englishwoman was a close acquaintance 
with slavery more repugnant than to most any one. 
She at once began the task of improving the condition 
of the blacks about the estate and accomplished much ; 
but after a time met with obstacles. Her husband was 
kind and indulgent; but from his birth and position 
saw things in a different light. Besides tidings of the 
state of affairs reached the negroes and their masters 
on other plantations, and the jealous planters disliked 
the whole thing, and the husband of the English bride 
was made uncomfortable by their insinuations. We 



PROSE. 61 

can see, therefore, that there was cause for acrimony. 
The thkd winter Mrs. Butler was not allowed to go 
South. 

In 1841 they visited England. Her mother had died 
and her father retired from the stage. After a sojourn 
of two years they returned to America. Her married 
life proved unliappy and after some years of alienation 
a final separation ensued. 

Mrs. Butler returned to Europe and visited her sister 
Adelaide in Rome. This sister had been a famous 
opera singer, she was now married to a Mr. Edward 
Sartoris, an Englishman, and their son Algernon Sartoris 
became the husband of Nellie Grant, the President's 
daughter. 

While in Italy or after her stay, Mrs. Butler published 
a book called " A Year of Consolation." It was neces- 
sary that she should again return to the stage as an 
occupation, and in 1846 she made her reentry in London, 
and after thirteen years' absence regained her popularity. 
She returned to the United States and gave a series of 
Shaksperean readings in the principal cities and then 
bought a farmhouse in Lenox, Massachusetts, near her 
friends the Sedgwicks, and of late years has lived in 
retirement in Philadelphia, but is now once more in 
England. 



62 PEOSE. 

While in England, in 1842, she received a letter from 
Lydia Maria Child asking permission to publish parts 
of her Southern journal, probably for use as an anti- 
slavery tract. From prudential reasons she felt con- 
strained to refuse the request. In 1863, during the 
civil war, these reasons no longer remaining, the letters 
were published in England under the title " Journal of 
a Residence on a Georgia Plantation," and afterwards 
reprinted in this country. It is valuable, because it is a 
record of an era in the life of this nation which has 
passed away. 

During her stay in Philadelphia, Mrs. Kemble at- 
tended the Unitarian church with which her husband 
and his people were connected. She became attached 
to the pastor, Dr. Furness, and seems ever afterwards to 
have remamed interested in the denomination. At one 
time she writes " I have heard Dr. Channing, Dr. 
Dewey, Dr. Bellows, Dr. Furness, Dr. Follen, William 
and Henry Ware, but think that James Martineau sur- 
passed these men in his preaching." James Martineau 
a brother of Harriet Martineau was and is if still living 
an English Unitarian divine. 

In one of her letters from America to her friend, Miss 
St. Leger, she writes, " I have just lost a friend. Dr. 
Follen ; a man to whose character no words of mine 



PKOSE. 63 

could do justice ; he has been publicly mourned from 
more than one Christian pulpit, and Dr. Chaiming in a 
discourse after his death, has spoken of him as one whom 
many thought the most perfect man they ever knew. 
Among those many I was one. I have never seen any 
one whom I revered, loved, and admired more than I did 
Dr. FoUen. He perished with above a hundred others 
in a burning steamboat (the Lexmgton) on the Long 
Island Sound, at night and in midwinter, the freezing 
waters affording no chance of escape to the boldest 
swimmer, or the most tenacious dinger to existence. 
He perished in the very flower of vigorous manhood, 
separated for the first time from a most dearly loved 
wife and child, who were prevented from accompanying 
him by sickness." And in a footnote to the published 
page of the above, she says, " Dr. Charles Follen, known 
in his own country as Carl Follenius, became an exile 
from it for the sake of his political convictions, which 
in his youth he had advocated with a passionate fervor 
that made him even in his college days obnoxious to its 
governing authorities. He wrote some fine spirited 
Volkslieder that the students approved of more than 
the masters, and was so conspicuous in the vanguard of 
liberal opinions, that the fatherland became an unwhole- 
some residence for him, and he emigrated to America, 



64 PROSE. 

where all his aspirations towards enlightened freedom 
found elbowroom ; and where he became an ordained 
Unitarian preacher. He was a man of remarkable physi- 
cal vigor and excelled in all feats of strength and activity, 
having when first he came to Boston opened a gymnasium 
for the training of the young Harvard scholars in such 
exercises. He had the sensibility and gentleness of a 
woman, the imagination of a poet, and the courage of a 
hero. His countenance was the reflection of his noble 
nature. My intercourse with him influenced my life 
while it lasted, and long after his death the thought of 
what would have been approved or condemned by him, 
affected my actions. Many years after his death, I was 
speaking of him to Waeleker, the Nestor of German 
professors, the most learned of German Historians and 
Antiquarians, and he broke out into enthusiastic praise 
of Follen who had been his pupil at Jena, and to 
whose worth he bore with deep emotion, a glowing 
testimony." 

The professional ability and personal worth of the 
Kemble family made them welcome in English society, 
and Miss Fanny reaped the benefits of their position. 
In this country she was probably liked for her own 
merits. In her public and private life in Europe she 
has met many prominent people ; and among those who 



PKOSE. 65 

may be classed as friends or acquaintances we find Walter 
Scott, Thomas Moore, Macaulay, Rogers the poet, 
Sidney Smith, Geo. Stevenson, Mrs. Jameson, Mary 
Somerville, Lady Morgan, Dickens, Thackeray, Lady 
Byron, Mendelssohn, Weber, Liszt, Macdonald the 
sculptor, Barry Cornwall, Carlyle, and others. A 
brother, John Mitchell Kemble, two years her junior, 
became noted for his researches in the language of the 
ancient Saxons and his writings on the diplomacy of the 
European courts, some of his papers being catalogued 
by the Boston Public Library. Among his schoolmates 
whom Miss Fanny used to meet at her father's house, 
were Alfred Tennyson, Arthur Hallam, John Sterling, 
Richard French, Richard Monckton Milnes and Thack- 
eray. Hallam, known as a British poet and essayist, 
died at twenty-two, and of him Tennyson wrote his 
poem " In Memoriam." John Sterling, critic and essay- 
ist, also died young ; Richard French became an author, 
and archbishop of Dublin ; John Kemble in his youth 
with French and some other college friends, had their 
enthusiasm enlisted in the cause of Spanish liberty and 
went to Spain to assist in an uprising. They were for- 
tunate to get back to England as the incipient rebellion 
was quickly quelled and some of the ringleaders shot. 
In America Miss Kemble has known Sumner, Long- 



66 PROSE. 

fellow, Mrs. Stowe, Irving, Channing and others. To 
Mendelssohn, she was mtrodueed when he was in Lon- 
don a youth of nineteen. She was playing her first 
season of Juliet : after the performance, the leader 
of the orchestra lifted her off the stage in her grave 
clothes and presented the young composer who was 
present. About that time George Stephenson had not 
only completed his locomotive, but had just finished 
what was then considered a marvel of engineering, the 
building of the railroad from Manchester to Liverpool 
across the Chat-moss. Miss Kemble and her father act- 
ing in those cities were invited to make the trial trip 
with Stephenson over this the first passenger railway in 
the world. Sitting in the cab with Stephenson he told 
her the story of his trials and triumphs. Writing of the 
occasion to her friend she says : " Now for a word or 
two about the master of all these marvels, with whom I 
am horribly in love. He is a man of from fifty to fifty- 
five years of age, his face is fine, though careworn, and 
bears an expression of deep thoughtfulness ; his mode 
of explaining his ideas is peculiar, and very original, 
striking and forcible, and although his accent indicates 
strongly his north country birth, his language has not 
the slightest touch of vulgarity or coarseness. He has 
certainly turned my head." Such were her impressions 



PROSE. 67 

of George Stephenson, a digger of coal at Newcastle, 
surely one of Nature's noblemen. 

Washington Irving, Miss Kemble met in London, he 
being a friend of her father's and on coming to America 
the acquaintance was renewed. The simplicity and 
quiet humor of our American author is seen in an in- 
cident which she relates. As Miss Kemble returned 
home on the night of her first performance in London 
and sat at the supper table, she found beside her plate 
a beautiful watch, a present from her father. On the 
following morning, Irving called at the house to offer 
his congratulations on the success of the opening night. 
Miss Fanny's first action was to run and bring her 
watch. Irving took it and after admirmg the handsome 
case put it to his ear and said with a look of mock sur- 
prise, " Why it goes, does n't it? " She frequently met 
the London wit, Sidney Smith, in society, although her 
sister Adelaide seems to have been more of a favorite 
with him. Among the society people of that day were 
Grote the London banker and historian of Greece and 
his wife ; the former was a quiet, unassuming man while 
Mrs. Grote a leader in society, a great patron of musi- 
cians and their art, was highly eccentric in her dress and 
manner, and conveyed an impression of masculinity ; 
and on one occasion coming into a room full of company 



68 PROSE. 

with a flaming red turban on her head, Smith turned to 
Miss Kemble and said, " Now I know the meanmg of 
the word grotesque." At another time speaking of this 
couple he said, " I like them, I like them, I like him, 
he 's so ladylike ; and I like her, she is such a perfect 
gentleman." 

The first member of the Kemble family to come to 
America was Mrs. Whitelock, a sister of Chas. Kemble 
and Mrs. Siddons ; she came here previous to the year 
1800, on a professional tour ; and had among her audi- 
ences Washington and other prominent men of the day. 

Probably the last of the race to appear on the Ameri- 
can stage is Mrs. Scott Siddons, a great-granddaughter 
of Sarah Siddons. 



PROSE. 69 



THE ARNOLD ARBORETUM. 

The Arnold Arboretum at Boston is a place possess- 
ing novel and interesting features in scientific plant cul- 
ture. Its origin was a bequest made to Harvard Col- 
lege by James Arnold, a citizen of Massachusetts. By 
the provisions of the bequest a sum of $100,000 was to 
be invested and kept intact until, with accumulated in- 
terest, it should increase to $150,000, the income from 
this sum to be used by the college in the scientific study 
of woody and herbaceous plants, hardy in New England. 

A tract of land comprising about 170 acres, included 
in a bequest made to the college by Benjamin Bussey, 
and situated in the outlying district of Jamaica Plain, 
had been chosen, when the park commissioners of Bos- 
ton decided that this very tract was required for the 
city's system of parks. An arrangement was finally 
concluded by which the territory was made to serve 
each corporation. The college, by a deed, transferred 
the title to the property to the city, and then obtained 
the use of the land by means of a lease. By the terms 
of the lease the coUeo^e was to have the use of the land 



70 PROSE. 

for 1,000 years by the payment of one dollar a year, 
with the privilege of renewal. The city, on its part, 
was to build roads, furnish police, and, if necessary, in- 
troduce a further supply of water. And the Arboretum 
was to be open to the public every day from 7 o'clock 
A. M. until sunset, under rules similar to those govern- 
ing the public park system of Boston. 

As its name indicates, the study of tree growth is the 
most prominent feature of the work at the Arboretum ; 
and, with some slight exceptions, the cultivation of her- 
baceous plants is held in abeyance. The Aboretum thus 
differs from a botanic garden ; as in the latter place all 
forms of vegetable growth might properly have positions. 
In the prosecution of the work separate plantations are 
arranged for the different groups or families. Thus of 
the maples, the ashes, the oaks, the elms, the walnuts, 
the hickories and the birches, each family occupies ex- 
clusively an allotted space. 

In starting a plantation the soil is especially prepared ; 
the history of each individual is noted ; the tree, when 
placed in the ground, is numbered, a corresponding 
number being marked on a plan of the plantation ; and 
the height of the tree and other features are recorded. 
The growth of the different species is then carefully 
watched ; the insects that infest them are studied ; and 



PROSE. Tl 

many other observations required by the art and science 
of arboriculture are made. 

The " shrubbery " is one of the most interesting spots 
in the Arboretum. Bed after bed of shrubs and pros- 
trate and climbing vines make this section a place of 
attractiveness for the lover of color; either in the 
spring-time, when the shrubs are sheeted with blossoms, 
or in the fall, when many of the plants are ablaze with 
scarlet berries. Some of the individuals are more than 
ordinarily interesting. For instance, here is a shrub 
whieli the visitor, by consulting the painted stake at its 
side, iinds to be a nevusia — (N. Alabamensis). This 
plant, as its specific name implies, is native in Alabama. 
It is a rare plant even there ; growing only in a limited 
tract of country. As a stranger from the South the 
nevusia excites attention because of the hardiness it 
exhibits in continuing a vigorous existence in the lati- 
tude of Boston. Further on is a gordonia. Of the 
genus gordonia there were formerly two species in the 
South — G. lasyanthus, a tree still common in the Gulf 
states under the name of loblolly bay, and G. pubescens, 
the variety of which the shrub at the Arboretum is a 
tjrpe. Gordonia pubescens was discovered near the 
Altamaha river in Georgia by John Bartram, a botanist 
of colonial times. Subsequent botanists have sought 



72 PKOSE. 

in vain to find the plant in its habitat. In recent years 
men have been sent by C. S. Sargent, the director of 
the Arnold Arboretum, to the banks of the Altamaha, 
but the long lost gordonia has not been found. 

In other instances has the book of nature been opened 
at a certain page by some explorer, not to be re-opened 
at the same place. The elder Michaux, while visiting 
Bartram's estate on the Schuylkill, saw there an oak, 
the counterpart of which he never found in his subse- 
quent travels. The yellow honeysuckle found by the 
same botanist in a Southern state has not been re-dis- 
covered in the same region ; though it has been intro- 
duced into various parts of the country by means of 
seeds sent from France. Other cases of this kind have 
been recorded ; but there is a reason for being reluctant 
to believe that in all such instances a distinct species 
was discovered ; position, climatic influence, and other 
causes sometimes producing other than an ordinary type 
of the species. 

Experiments in hybridization are not frequently made 
at the Arboretum, the shrubbery containing for the 
greater part natural plants so placed that they may be 
seen growing under a high degree of cultivation, many 
visitors thus realizing for the first time how many deni- 
zens of the woods and wilds may be called upon to or- 
nament the lawn and the garden. 



PROSE. Y3 

In the spring of 1891 the authorities instituted a 
course of lectures and field meetings, by which those in 
attendance may gain an acquaintance with forest trees 
and acquire a readmess in identifying types of the vari- 
ous kinds. The sojourner in the country or the occa- 
sional visitor in the woods finds his pleasures enhanced 
if he is able to call by name the different trees under 
whose shade he passes in his rambles. While the merest 
tyro will not confound a cedar with a maple, to distin- 
guish with a glance the black, the red, and the scarlet 
oaks, or to correctly name the native conifers, except 
for one to the manner born, is an accomplishment ac- 
quired only by instruction, supplemented with continu- 
ous observation. The backwoodsman, wishing to fell a 
hemlock, walks along through the forest and knows his 
tree when he comes to it by a glance at its trunk and 
foliage. The student in botany, approaching for the 
first time the same tree, consults his text-book, and by 
a process of confirmation and exclusion, he, too, decides 
the tree to be a hemlock. A person, though having but 
a slight knowledge of the science of botany, may hope, 
by joming with the meetings at the Arboretum, to attain 
a position between these two individuals. 

The following method of instruction at these meetings 
is employed : Fresh specimens of the foliage, and, if in 



74 PROSE. 

the season of flowering, the flowers of the different spe- 
cies of the genera to be studied, are arranged for inspec- 
tion in the class-room, and for further notice at home. 
The instructor then briefly describes the characteristics 
of the genera under observation, and the distinguishing 
feature of each species. At the close of the in-door 
instruction the class repairs to the plantations and to 
the natural woods of the Arboretum, where the subject 
of the day and the subjects of previous lessons are 
gone over in review. The shrubbery also is frequently 
visited as the various plants put forth their blossoms, 
or as their leaves and fruit take on the hues of autumn ; 
and, as a result of these visits, members of the class who 
have gardens or spacious grounds become possessed 
of an extended judgment to use in selecting trees or 
shrubs for adornment. Two or more meetings are de- 
voted to outside excursions. Middlesex Fells, Muddy 
Pond Woods, or some other spot is visited, the occasion 
being used by the instructor to further test the knowl- 
edge possessed by members of the class. 

Membership in these classes is obtained by the pay- 
ment of a fee, and they that have found time to be pres- 
ent at one or more of the terms have derived profit 
and enjoyment by giving attention to the subjects 
brought to their notice. 



PROSE. 75 



THE GRAY PINE. 

Of the four pines native in New England, the white 
pine and the red are valuable as timber producing trees : 
the pitch pine is a great producer of heat when used as 
fuel ; while the gray or scrub pine — Pinus Banksiana — 
would seem at first to be possessed of little or no merit. 
It is not often called upon to furnish lumber, neither is 
it an ornamental tree ; but there are interesting features 
pertaining to its existence. 

If, as Darwin says, the oak is driving the pine from 
the forest, the gray pine will be the last of the family 
to go; for it is tenacious of life and is able to exist 
under severe conditions ; yet its methods of continuing 
its race are uncertain, as we shall see. 

While the seeds of the white pine are formed one 
season and ripen and fall from the cone in the early 
autumn of the next year, the seeds of the scrub pine do 
not so soon reach the soil. The cones containing them 
remain sealed and persist to the stem. Year after year 
passes ; the wood even grows over the base of the cone, 
yet all is repose. After a long period of waiting a fire 



76 PROSE. 

sweeps through the forest ; then it is that the gray pine 
cones open their scales and fling to the wind the germs 
of life they have so long held. 

The escape of the seeds under these circumstances 
has led some observers to reason that forest fires are 
natural phenomena; furnishing this pine a means to 
perpetuate its species. If fire destroys a forest of white 
pine, that tree can hardly regain a foothold ; the scrub 
pine, however, moves into the burnt district and thrives ; 
as does the aspen. It is this displacement by inferior 
trees, brought about partly at least through the agencies 
of civilization, that has given rise to the opinion that the 
white pine will be known in the future only by speci- 
mens in parks and private grounds, unless civilization 
establishes counter agencies to preserve it as a forest 
growth. 

The gray pine when thus occupying burnt land grad- 
ually improves the soil ; and when some hardwood seed- 
ling springs up it is shaded by the older tree, which thus 
acts as a nurse ; and this seems to be the mission of this 
tree. 

Though placed in the list of New England trees, the 
Banksian pine is not found wild south of the forty-fourth 
parallel. It abounds above this line in some of the 
Western states ; and in Canada it ranges across the 



PROSE. 77 

country and up through the British possessions to the 
westward of Hudson's bay; whence it pushes north- 
ward with a group of trees comprising the American 
larch, the canoe birch, the trembling aspen, and the 
black and the white spruces. Just within the Arctic 
circle, at about latitude sixty-six, a separation takes 
place ; the pine and the deciduous trees have reached 
their northern limit ; while the spruces are able to lead 
a struggling existence for one hundred miles beyond 
to a point near the mouth of the Mackenzie river, where 
the extreme cold holds them down to less than half their 
size ; and where, if we except the little arctic wUlow, 
they represent the northern limit of tree growth on this 
continent. 



78 PROSE. 



THREE ITALIANS. 

This flame which burnt for Italy, 
It would not let her haters sleep ; 

They blew at it with angry breath 
And only fed its upward leap, 
And only made it hot and deep ; 

Its burning showed us Italy, 

And all the hopes she had to keep. 

Laura C. Beddin. 

On the little island of Caprera, situated in the Medi- 
terranean sea near the larger island, Sardmia, lives one 
who, though not possessing the elements of greatness, 
has gained for his name a place most unique among the 
famous of modern times, and who, by audacity and bril- 
liant strokes of energy, has won his way into the councils 
of kings, compelling them, even while they smiled at the 
grotesqueness of the scene, to ask or accept his service. 
The reader already recognizes the individual, and when 
the story of Italy is told, the name of Guiseppe Gari- 
baldi is found intertwined with the narrative. 

On our next Fourth of July, Garibaldi will have com- 
pleted 75 years of life, and if the old chief possesses a 



PROSE. 79 

contemplative mind, he will find the hours of his next 
birthday busy with the retrospective view of his active 
manhood. Perhaps he will suddenly cross to his school- 
days at Genoa, when with a few companions, he seized 
a boat and started for the Levant, only to be captured by 
his father and ignominiously returned. He will remem- 
ber later on of stalking out of Genoa in disguise, with 
his name for the first time in print, under a sentence of 
death — a marked man — a proscript. How much 
will then flood upon him — his first crossing of the 
Atlantic — his business career in South America — his 
stormy service for the strugglmg republic of Uruguay 
— his humble farm life with his young wife, the intrepid 
Brazilian girl, Anita, — and then the return and entry 
into the tumultuous scenes of warring Italy. At his call 
will be discerned the magic of a voice, as the volunteers 
flock around him to follow in his march across the 
Apennines, with the purpose before them of wrestling 
Venice from the Austrian clutch. Then will the 
shadows come. He will release his soldiers from their 
fruitless toil and again will struggle on with a few 
comrades, bearing, with their help, his dying wife to a 
place of rest. Again will he place her in the peasant's 
hut, and sending away his companions, watch out the 
last moments alone. Should he continue the review, 



80 PEOSE. 

he will recall his second ocean voyage — his labor in a 
candle manufactory on Staten Island — his visit to his 
old home at Montevidio — and then his second return 
and his brilliant career in the cause of Italian unity, 
and finally his retirement to the peaceful scenes of hus- 
bandry at Caprera. Yes, the path of Garibaldi has been 
strewn thick with events, and his efforts in one direction 
have been untiring , but the title of deliverer of Italy, 
which his friends claim for him, cannot be justly 
awarded to one man only. Three names at least must 
share whatever of honor or fame is attached to it — 
Mazzini, Garibaldi, Cavour. These are the men who 
have achieved the political union of the Italian penin- 
sular, and though scarcely ever united, each working 
out a problem in her behalf. 

Mazzini, the son of a physician, was brought up to 
follow the law ; Garibaldi was a trained sailor, and 
Cavour, who received an excellent military education, 
was first a page at court and then a civil engineer. All 
three early in life turned their attention to the affaks of 
their country, and bent then- energies to the task of 
changing its condition. The unification of Italy ! The 
oft-mentioned dream of her patriot sons I What does it 
mean? What is the story? 'Tis a tangled skein. Let 
us try to unravel a few threads. In Bonaparte's en- 



PROSE. 81 

deavor to aggrandize France, Italy of course engaged 
his early attention. Consisting of a number of petty 
states, each under its own ruler, he possessed himself of 
a collection of these principalities, and then handed it 
around among his relations and generals, awarding a 
kmgdom to one, a dukedom to another, and so on, until 
a new list of rulers was substituted. 

Soon after his fall, the heads of the European powers 
met at Vienna in 1815, and, with other business, pro- 
vided for Italy. They returned most of the states to 
their former rulers, carrying out some such plan as the 
following one : Sardinia, (island) Savoy and Piedmont 
were returned to their king and Genoa added ; Venice 
and Lombardy were made over to Austria, the latter 
province having been in her possession for three cen- 
turies ; the Neapolitan States and Tuscany were given 
back to their former sovereigns ; the Pope returned to 
Rome ; Modena was given to Duke Francis, Parma to 
Marie Louise, the Austrian wife of Napoleon, and little 
San Marino allowed to govern itself, as it now does — 
a miniature republic — the toy among nations. 

Such then was the political aggregation which could 
be known geographically, only, as Italy, when these 
three men came upon the stage. If the different States 
had been model governments, the case would have 



82 PEOSE. 

deserved less notice ; but they were not. Most of them 
were little despotisms ruled in a manner tyrannical and 
cruel for this century. Mazzini was the first to apply 
himself to the work of reform. His ideas and methods 
differ often from Garibaldi's, and are most always opposed 
to those of Cavour. He seems to have been interested 
as a boy in the regeneration of Italy, and at an early age 
he found out and joined the Carbonari, a society whose 
purpose was to revolutionize the existing governments. 
The organization had gained but a few temporary suc- 
cesses, and Mazzini, not liking its lethargic movements, 
sought more active service. He soon fell under the 
suspicion of the government, and being entrapped into 
revealing his membership in the society, was thrown 
mto prison. After several months of confinement, he 
was tried and acquitted, but upon the request of the 
governor of Genoa, the king set aside the verdict of the 
judges and bade the young schemer choose between 
seclusion in a small interior town and exile. Mazzini 
chose the latter, went to France, and soon began the 
building up of " Young Italy," the organization which 
he had planned in prison. The theory of this institution 
was, that Italy was destined to be a republic, that it 
could be united under no other form of government, 
and that the change was to be brought about by contin- 



PROSE. 83 

ual insurrections in each and every province, to be sus- 
tained by guerilla warfare. Its writings, smuggled into 
Italy by sailors and others, found ready converts among 
the youth of the land, and the organization grew rapidly. 
The governments soon heard of it, and at their request 
the French authorities ordered the exiles out of France. 
The leaders stayed, however, and Mazzini, thus forced 
to conceal himself, worked on in secret, for twenty years, 
he says, a voluntary prisoner in a little room. His en- 
thusiasm and vitality were unbounded. Day and night 
for months and years, in France, Switzeiland or England 
engaged in this anxious, perilous work, often deserted, 
sometimes betrayed, gairdng few real victories and least 
of all a crowning triumph, he passed his life in the pur- 
suit of his ideal. His impatience with all forms of 
monarchy, and his speculative theories of a republican 
Europe, found little sympathy among the older thinking 
minds, and many regarded him as a Utopist and a fanat- 
ic, more dangerous to the cause of Italy than a pro- 
nounced foe. If a dreamer, he was terribly active when 
awake, and he accomplished much. His expectations 
were simply beyond the reach of fulfillment in his time. 
He lived chiefly, then, on a stubborn faith in principle, 
seeing but few direct results from his labors. As state 
after state was won by the sword of Garibaldi or the 



84 PROSE. 

diplomacy of Cavour, and added to the Sardinian king- 
dom, the nucleus of the growing nation, Mazzini saw 
no step towards the realization of his hopes, each con- 
quest being but a barren victory for republican growth. 
It is a proof of his power, however, that as a fugitive 
and exile, working with the precarious methods of his 
adoption, he was able to infuse his spirit through the 
land under the watchful eye of jealous tyranny, and to 
make his existence the source of uneasiness to the rulers 
on the continent, so that, to use his own words, there 
was not an inch of ground in all Europe, excepting 
Switzerland, on which he could legally tread. The un- 
just association of his name which acts of personal vio- 
lence committed by some of his followers, did much to 
injure him with the contemporary public, yet he had 
warm friends in England, and liberal thought every- 
where had some sympathy for his work for Italy. Per- 
haps with the exception of President Garfield's funeral, 
no burial of modern times has drawn so many people 
together as Mazzini's, eighty thousand people coming to 
pay tribute to their leader. The writings of Mazzini, 
though somewhat visionary, are inspiring and interest- 
ing, and the generous descriptions of the friends of his 
youth draw the reader towards him. 

And Garibaldi, the man who chooses to fight his bat- 



PROSE. 85 

ties, appear in council, and sit for his portrait in the 
easy freedom of a red shirt ; is it not hard to study his 
career and not sum it up as the record of the daring 
adventurer and energetic soldier of fortune, rather than 
of the earnest patriot? His entrance into the quarrel 
between France and Germany, and later his proffered 
assistance to the Paris Commune, lead to such a conclu- 
sion ; or else we fail to reach the planes of his devotion 
to the liberty of the common people every^vhere. 

Though at first in close union with Mazzmian princi- 
ples, he cast them aside for the service of Charles Albert 
and Victor Emanuel. Italy united as a kingdom or as 
a republic is acceptable, if he can but bear a hand in the 
formation. His delight is m military exploits, and " too 
trained in camps to learn a statesman's part," he must 
have little liked the order of things, hastened by his 
own prowess, which relegated him to the shade of his 
vine and fig-tree at Caprera. 

In Cavour's life, then, we see well-directed effort and 
carefully estimated strength. Moderate monarchy ! that 
has been soil encouraging to till throughout Europe, 
with the exception of Russia and Turkey. Cavour be- 
lieved in it ; he did not care to look beyond it. Eng- 
land was his model, and his Italy should approach her 
construction. The achievements of her statesmen were 



86 PEOSE. 

the stimulants of his ambition. Having made some re- 
marks of too liberal a nature, he was imprisoned at the 
age of eighteen. Writing to a friend who condoled 
with him, he said, " I am very ambitious ; and when I 
am minister I shall justify my ambition ; for I tell you 
in my dreams I already see myself minister of the king- 
dom of Italy." Seldom does a man map out his career 
and follow it so closely and completely. Cavour united 
early with the more moderate men of patriotism, and 
expressing his ideas vigorously in print, a party was 
formed of which he was a leading spirit. At the proper 
time it was decided to take a step forward, and accord- 
ingly they asked of Charles Albert a constitution for his 
kingdom. Ostensibly the petition bears the signature 
of moderate monarchy ; but does not the king see the 
shadowy tracing of young Italy stamped in the paper ? 
The king, who made some pretence at being a reformer 
himself, granted the request. This was the first tillage. 
Mazzini sows and Cavour reaps. Charles Albert recog- 
nized the young man's ability and soon placed him in 
power. The work begun must now be forwarded with 
pen and sword. The disastrous battle of Norara com- 
pelled the king to make way for his son, Victor Eman- 
uel. The new ruler was still more impressed with the 
rising statesman, and a minister's seat at the council 



PROSE. 87 

was soon given him. Cavour now had opportunity to 
institute some of the reforms which his visit to England 
had suggested to him. The work of unification was not 
lost sight of. The alliance with France for war with 
Austria forms a peculiar part of its history. This 
struggle, which consisted of the single campaign of the 
summer of 1859, was a series of brilliant victories for 
the allied arms culminating at Solferino. But why at 
Solferino? The question has had many answers. The 
title of king, generally of some importance, was not just 
the one for Victor Emanuel then, for emperors only met 
at Villafranca. The Sardinian troops had borne their 
share of the heat of battle, but their commander was 
not asked to the arbitration. The result of the confer- 
ence between Louis and Francis was that the border 
province of Lombardy was given to Italy, while Vene- 
tia remained with Austria. The sudden peace and the 
terms given him to accept, were a check and surprise to 
the minister. He had counted on no half loaf appor- 
tionment, in view of the brilliant successes of the war. 
His chagrin caused him to lose his temper, and a heated 
discussion with the king led to his temporary retirement. 
Another surprise soon came upon the people. The re- 
joicings for the acquisition of the fertile Lombard plains 
were hardly begun when Napoleon claimed the attention 



»0 PROSE. 

of the government. He asked for services rendered, 
the cedmg to France of Nice and Savoy. Cavour, now 
reinstated, had this vexed question to settle. He seems 
to have made a virtue of necessity by asking the peo- 
ple to decide by a plebiscite under which government 
they would live. The choice was rather mortifying to 
the Italian patriots. A large majority voted for annexa- 
tion to France ; and by treaty Nice and Savoy became 
French territory — Nice, the birth-place of Garibaldi. 
The chieftain could scarcely forgive Cavour for thus 
pushing his native land from under his feet, and Savoy, 
the province on which was founded the house of Savoy, 
the father to a line of kings that shall grace Italy. It 
was this transaction that won for Victor Emanuel among 
his enemies the title of the modern Esau — exchanging 
his (Savoy) birthright for a mess of (Lombardy) pottage. 
In the spring of 1860 the restless Republicans revolted 
in Sicily, and Garibaldi, ever on the alert, went to help 
them. With extraordmary success he wrested the land 
from its ruler, and then turned to Naples. Cavour op- 
posed or pretended to oppose these movements ; but the 
guerilla chief, who seems to have given himself an in- 
dependent commission as commander-in-chief of the des- 
tinies of Italy, cared nothing for the orders sent him. 
When success became apparent, Cavour quickly turned 



PROSE. 89 

and aided the expedition, and the result was that on 
Victor Emanuel's entry into Naples he was hailed by 
Garibaldi as " Kmg of Italy," and the Sardinian mon- 
arch, to whose net all that came were fishes, did not, like 
Caesar, even reluctantly put aside the crown. In the 
meantime Tuscany, Parma and Modena had united 
themselves to the growing kingdom. Cavour did not 
live to see the papal states and Venetia placed under 
the sway of his king, his death occurring June 6, 1861. 
On the flight of Pius the IX., caused by an uprising in 
Rome, a republic was proclaimed, and Mazzini, who had 
reappeared in Italy, enjoyed for a short time the privi- 
leges of self-government, he being chosen one of the 
triumvirs. Early in the year French troops were 
landed on the coast, but their march was not without 
opposition. The city was put in a state of defence, 
and a determined resistance decided upon. The wily 
French emperor, it is said, sent word to the triumvirs 
by the Ambassador de Lesseps (of canal fame) that 
their rule would not be disturbed; while to Oudinot, 
who had been rather roughly handled by Garibaldi, he 
insinuated that reinforcements would not be wanting, 
and that the honor of the French arms must be main- 
tained. That general accordingly pushed on, invested 
the city, and in a month's time forced its surrender ; 



90 PROSE. 

the pope was restored, the French troops remained, and 
Mazzini's star again went down. 

By the alliance with Prussia in 1866, the long wished 
for Venice was recovered to Italy, and on the fall of 
Napoleon in 1870, the French support being thus re- 
moved, Victor Emanuel took possession of the papal 
states. A plebiscite was offered the people, and the re- 
sult was more flattering than in the case above men- 
tioned. The populace expressing almost unanimously 
their wish to unite with Italy, the states were incorpor- 
ated, and the king thus had the satisfaction of seeing 
the completion of his boot-shaped empire, over which he 
ruled till his death in 1878. Mazzini, two years the 
senior of Garibaldi and five of Cavour, had died in 
1872. Garibaldi remains in retirement at his island 
home. The work of the three men, covering so many 
years of the same period, is thus practically ended. 
Modern Italy as a nation may date from 1861. If the 
fusion of a number of sovereignties into a limited mon- 
archy is a movement towards free government, then is 
the prophecy of Bonaparte, that Europe would be all 
Cossack or all republican, a step nearer a liberal solution. 



PROSE. 91 



RAIN IN NEW ENGLAND. 

As our weather in New England is made up of a 
number of different phases or conditions, so is one of 
those phases diversified in character or mode of exhibi- 
tion. This element, the rain, comes to us in different 
ways at different times, although, of course, always 
similar in itself, with the exception perhaps of a vari- 
ation of temperature. A popular account may be at- 
tempted of these visits, so irregular in their coming and 
so uncertain in their stay. 

Firstly, there may be mentioned one kind of a sum- 
mer shower. It may occur on a sultry afternoon in Aug- 
ust. Unobserved and unexpected masses of light gray 
clouds stealthily place themselves between sky and 
earth. If we look out of the window in time we see 
spots of moisture on the walk where the first drops are 
falling ; if not, we are soon apprised of the event by the 
gentle sound of the rain sifting through the trees. Go- 
ing to the door we notice the fresh, familiar smell pres- 
ent at such a time. Whence comes this odor? Is it 
caused by the water mixing with the dust ? is it washed 



92 PROSE. 

out of the leaves? or is it a mere sensation resulting 
from the purifying effect of the descending shower. 
But little rain falls on these occasions though the 
weather may appear unsettled for the rest of the day. 

Then there is the thunder shower — a companion of 
the early summer months. This, too, comes in the after- 
noon, sometimes in the evening, and its advent is her- 
alded with considerable pomp. As the leaden clouds 
loom up in the westward, we all know the character of 
their contents and confidently expect that Nature will 
shortly make an oration. To describe her remarks, her 
delivery, and her gestures, requires a master hand, and 
we will confine ourselves to the aqueous element. The 
first fall is in huge, scattering drops, and as Byron com- 
pares the dripping of the blood from the gladiator's 
wound to these first drops, it would appear that this is 
the usual way that thunder showers begin in Europe as 
well as with us. This skirmishing, however, is brief, 
something more decided quickly following, and sheets 
of water are soon deluging the surface of the ground. 

Thunder showers may work in one of two ways — 
the business may be rapidly dispatched, the clouds soon 
swept away, and the sun appear victoriously on the 
scene, or they may be reinforced by other clouds charged 
with rain, and the contest kept up until night, or even 



PKOSE. 93 

the day following ; and, if the storm has not been too 
violent, the sun again looks forth on a blooming coun- 
try, beaming everywhere with renewed beauty and vigor. 
We may finish the remarks on these showers by repeat- 
ing what others have said, that if the atmosphere is 
cooled at all it is by the wind preceding the shower, 
rather than from the falling rain. During the last part 
of September we expect a legendary " line storm," which 
consists of two or three days of rain, accompanied by 
violent winds. This visitation, if it occurs, is often 
productive of serious damage to property and vegeta- 
tion, and as the growing season is nearing the end, the 
rain is not apparently so beneficial. The storm, how- 
ever, affords entertainment for those who love Nature 
in her more turbulent moods. 

Rain in October is apt to come with northeast winds 
and a low temperature, and though not particularly de- 
sired by humanity in general is welcomed by sportsmen, 
as the severity of the gale drives large quantities of sea- 
fowl on to the coast. 

If these rains are disagreeable, what shall we say of 
those of the last autumn month. All the beauty and 
pleasure attendant upon this feature of the weather has 
departed; the dark gray clouds spread over the earth 
form a sullen, solid mass ; the vanes point fixedly to the 



94 PROSE. 

northeast, and the long continuing rain falls not upon 
reviving vegetation, but upon stripped fields, chaotic 
gardens and leafless trees. Sometimes it is in torrents, 
sometimes in drizzling mist, in large drops, in fine drops, 
but always wet, cold and incessant ; and we see truth in 
the refrain of Shakspere's clown : 

" For the rain it raineth every day." 

One, perhaps two weeks of such weather cannot but 
have a depressing effect on the mind, and such an effect 
is apparent among the people gathered in the cars, the 
stores and the streets, and perhaps would also be seen 
m their homes. We meet with philosophic individuals 
who say to us that all this water is needed to fill up the 
ponds and sprmgs before the long frost of winter sets 
in ; and as we are not prepared to dispute this assertion 
we extract comfort from it, and we may further solace 
ourselves by repeating the beautiful and assuring line : 
"Be still, sad heart, and cease repining. 
Behind tlie clouds is the sun still shining." 
And so supported we battle with the blues, until at 
length the gloomy veil is lifted and a series of mellow, 
delicious days follow. 

We had almost decided to say nothing about April 
showers which bring May flowers, for these gentle stim- 
ulators of bloom are often wanting, and the early bios- 



PROSE. 95 

soms sometimes have, like Burn's daisy, to glint forth 
amid the storm ; and when we think of the sixty days 
of uncomfortable weather which we sometimes pass 
through, a raw east wind blowing upon us most of the 
time, and then of the traditionary mildness of spring, 
we are led to believe that the climate of this period of 
the year has undergone a change, or that we have 
implicitly based our expectations on the English writers, 
or that the ideas naturally possessed by the early 
settlers from England still retain an instinctive hold 
among us. Why else do we sing of gentle spring, with 
ice and snow, sleet and hail alternating about our 
doors ? 

Lastly may be mentioned a winter rain. This event 
is more interesting, perhaps, or less monotonous, in a 
large city. The falling torrents wash away the soiled 
and worn-out snow and scour the bricks of the side- 
walks to a brighter red. The scene at night has a 
certain charm for imaginative minds, and the flicker of 
the gas jets in their misty casings, the tramp of the 
rapidly-driven hack horses, now muffled by the inter- 
medial slush, now rattling on the washed pavements — 
the wet and dismal forms of the rubber-coated police- 
men — the ineffectual struggle of the lights from stores 
and dwellings to pierce the foggy darkness — and every- 



96 PROSE. 

where the drip and splash of the rain, have more than 
once tempted the pen of the writer of prose or verse. 
Such are some of the exhibitions of an element which 
enters largely into the climate of New England. A 
climate which, notwithstanding the disagreeable features 
which have been hinted at, and some which have not, 
has much to commend it, possessing, as it does, for 
those who are to the manner born and who can stand 
its eccentricities, a never-failing interest, making it 
more satisfactory than the even-tempered climate of 
the Sandwich Islands, and furnishing, perhaps, more 
days in a year wholly delightful than that of San Fran- 
cisco, which seldom sends the mercury above 85 degrees 
F. in summer, or below the freezing point in winter. 



PKOSE. 97 



THE WEAKNESS OF AN OATH. 

Throughout the civilized world, in order to secure 
the spoken truth, an oath is used. And yet, if we are 
to progress morally, the time will come when we shall 
stand at the point assigned us eighteen hundred years 
ago, when we were told to swear not at all. 

Powerful as an oath apparently is, its exact influence 
cannot be measured, and possibly it is much less than 
supposed. Oaths to constancy and to truth have been 
broken ; and in an}' case where the promise has been 
kept, or the truth spoken, how are we to know whether 
to credit the result to the power of the pledge, or to 
the independent, moral strength of the person. Joseph 
Mazzini, when a young man, instituted the order of 
" Young Ital}^" From a few persons the organization 
spread through the provinces, and united together a 
large number of the youth of the land. Its "avowed 
object was to free the several States from royal sway, 
and bind them together as a republic. Individuals on 
joining the society were required to swear that they 
would work to accomplish this purpose, " now and for- 



98 PROSE. 

ever." Yet Mazzini lived to see many of those who 
took this oath grow luke-warm and indifferent; some 
hostile, and some to ally with royalty, and oppose the 
principles of the institution. He remained true ; he 
loved the whole of Italy and believed it to be her 
mission to unfurl the republican banner of freedom 
before the eyes of Europe. The delinquent associates 
lacked this love, and this faith; with them, then, the 
oath was insufficient : with him — superfluous. 

A prestige may be assumed for an oath to further 
certain ends. Portia says to Shylock " There 's thrice 
thy money offered thee ! " He replies, " An oath, an 
oath, I have an oath in heaven. Shall I lay perjury upon 
my soul? No, not for Venice." But further on, when 
he sees the impossibility of cutting out the pound of 
flesh without shedding one drop of blood, and the j)enalty 
for such shedding, he cries out, " I take the offer then — 
pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go." 

The value of a life of temperance, — valuable because 
of the fact that the greatest blessings are secured to 
one's self, and conferred on others by such a life — this 
alone we think should be the injunction and incentive 
for our actions in that direction. If the claims for tem- 
perance are true, and truth does not prevail, will aught 
else? 



PROSE. 99 

If an oath secures an exact statement from one, who, 
free from its pressure, would give a false statement, why 
then, it is useful to that degree. But if the testifier be 
one who would tell the truth of his own free will, what 
a blow does morality then receive by its administration. 
It has been set aside ; a substitute has taken its place ; 
the beauty of truth has been shut out. In short, does 
the custom of taking oath tend to produce a love for 
truth and fidelity? 



L.ofC. 



100 PKOSE. 



WOODLAND CULTURE. 

If the city should come into possession of a further 
tract of several acres, to be used for park purposes, I 
would venture to suggest a different treatment from 
that often employed with tracts of like areas. Instead 
of grass plots and walks of gravel, I think it would be 
well to make the place a repository of living specimens of 
the trees and shrubs native in New England. 

It is true that a pleasing effect is more quickly 
attained by preparing a lawn than by making a thick 
planting of young trees, but in the course of time the 
trees would assume the grateful appearance of a wood 
or forest. Such a collection would be of value, from a 
historical point of view. 

There are trees now growing wild about here that are 
not really native in this section of the country, and of 
the many foreign trees, shrubs, and vines that have 
been introduced in recent years, some have escaped from 
cultivation and established themselves in the woods and 
fields. 

The seventy or more species of trees native here are 



PROSE. 101 

seldom, if ever, found growing in proximity with each 
other. In the large reservation of the Middlesex Fells 
there is a paucity of species, and therefore it is difficult 
for us to become acquainted with all of our trees. 

The ever-recurring agitation in New York concerning 
the restrictions which keep the people off the grass in 
Central Park is always met by the reasonable reply, 
it seems to me, that if the vast throngs there were 
allowed to roam at will, there would soon be no grass. 

It does seem, however, that in our city there might 
be a spot prepared in some such manner as suggested 
above, in which visitors might be allowed to frequent 
every part, of course without license to mutilate or 
remove any growing plant. 

A fitting name for such a place would be, perhaps, 
the New England Woodlands. 



Answer in " Notes and Queries in the Boston Evening 
Transcri'pty 

5282. A list of shrubs that will flourish in the State 
of Maine at the forty-fifth parallel, is asked for. It may 
be said, of course, that the plants that abound in the 
woods of northern New England and Canada, would 
thrive in the above-mentioned latitude. In this class 



102 PROSE. 

are a number of shrubs which, though not so beautiful in 
inflorescence as many growing in Massachusetts gardens, 
of Japanese origin, are interesting and ornamental to a 
degree. In the list I should place our viburnums, 
especially V. lentago, V. opulus (high cranberry), V. 
pauciflorum, V. dentatum and V. pubescens. Of the cor- 
nels, Cornus stolonifera, C. circinata and C. Jlorida are 
interesting. Then there are the snow-berry, aromatic 
sumach, striped maple, witch hazel, cockspur thorn, 
chokeberry and other native shrubs. Besides some 
bush honeysuckles, there are two climbers : Lonicera 
hirsuta and Lonicera parvifiora. 

It is well known that there are hundreds of handsome 
flowering plants from Siberia, Northern China and 
Japan (among them the Exochorda mentioned) that 
thrive at Boston, and some of them perhaps would do 
well further north. Here are a few noted for their 
beauty either of bloom or of leaf, or both : Pyrus malus 
Parkmania, Pyrus spectabilis, Prunus tomentosa, Prunus 
japonica, Spircea trilobata, S. Van Houteii and other 
spii'seas. Of vines there are Akebia, Lycium chinensis, 
Celastrus articulata (Central Asia) and Sehizandra chin- 
ensis. 



PROSE. 103 



A SOMERVILLE TREE.* 

The recent publication of a book called " Typical 
Elms and Other Trees of Massachusetts" recalls to 
mind the fact that there are in Somerville some elms of 
size and interest. Standing with a resolute air in the 
sidewalk, at the foot of the land known to two gener- 
ations of school-boys as " Shute's Field," is a large tree 
of this kind ; and it seems as if it might interest passers- 
by, if the authorities were to place a small sign up on 
the tree telling when and by whom it was planted. A 
few yards north of the tree may be seen a depression in 
the field. This hollow, the almost effaced remains of a 
cellar, marks the spot where stood the house in which 
Widow Anna Rand lived with her children in 1775. 
The slight connection of her name with the passing of 
the British troops on their way to Lexington, has in 
times past been placed before the readers of the Journal. 

Mrs. Rand must have been a light sleeper that memo- 
rable night ; for in the earliest hour of the morning 
there came to her ears a strange sound, which proved 

• In 1894 the march of improvement caused the removal of this tree. 



104 PROSE. 

to be the subdued tread of the approachmg column; 
and, hastening down into the yard, she saw — a thrilling 
sight — the forms of the hostile British. She had been 
making soap that day, and she now crouched behind 
the barrel. Clad in the full habiliments of war, the 
enemy marched along ; their weapons and accoutrements 
glistening in the light of a clear moon. So near to the 
men was the solitary watcher, that she heard one soldier 
— presumably an officer — say to another, " We must 
hurry, or we '11 not get there before daylight." The 
column passed on, and the widow ran into the house 
and aroused her eldest son, Thomas, a lad of fifteen 
years, who ran out to tell a neighbor what his mother 
had seen. Three years afterwards (1778) this boy 
planted the elm in front of his house. A sapling then, 
the elm now, though not the largest of its kind, is, as 
all who have ever seen it know, a large and shapely 
tree ; measuring at the present time about " fourteen 
feet around the waist." Some years ago, the owner of 
the field, following the example of Bonaparte, who 
turned the Simplon road to save a cypress, curved 
inward the boundary line of his land, so that the tree 
might not stand in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Dr. O. W. Holmes, in an introduction to the work 
referred to in the opening lines of this article, says that 



PROSE. 105 

the American elm (the true Ulmus Americana, probably 
he means) is not a long-lived tree ; and that the English 
elm (in England) is not more enduring ; the successive 
lives of three old men, he says, would cover the span of 
the life of one of these trees. If this be so, this tree is 
in its prime ; but let us hope that at least two genera- 
tions of long-lived Somervillians may pass under its 
branches ; spending some seconds as they approach it 
considering whether they had better deflect their steps 
inward in making the passage or turn slightly outward 
and walk on the narrow strip between the tree and the 
curbstone. 

Some fifty years ago. Major Allen, an agent of the 
Middlesex Bleachery, passing daily under the tree, 
was so struck at that time with its beauty that he 
placed a placard on it stating its history. 

A slightly slimmer sister of this tree stands m the 

inner edge of the sidewalk a short distance to the east and 

farther down the street on the other side are some 

shapely elms ; all of which tend to give to this section 

of Somerville Avenue a cool and pleasing appearance in 

summer. It would seem, however, that he who would 

plant for remote posterity should set out an oak ; for 

Mary Howitt's lines, — 

" Four centuries grows the oak tree, 
Nor doth its verdure fail," — 



106 PROSE. 

refer only to the youth of the tree, if we can believe the 
stories told of ancient oaks. 

In closing it may be stated that trees have been 
planted on Somerville Avenue and watched with care 
until they have attained size and beauty, only to have 
them swept away by the ruthless hand of the street 
widener. So in setting out trees we should consider 
the possibility of changes in boundary lines. 



PROSE. 107 



SOME MINOR POETS OF AMERICA. 

It is meant in this paper to ask attention to some of 
the writers of verse in America, who, while standing 
on a lower plane than others are ranked as the fore- 
most poets of the land, have yet produced writings, 
which have at least gained for their authors temporary 
fame, and which in some instances bid fair to endure 
with works of more famous writers. They are called in 
the title minor poets, and it is believed that the classifica- 
tion is a just one. The writers who are called standard 
poets have produced much of a fine quality ; these, 
whom I class as minor poets, have produced something 
worthy of recognition. True, of the two attributes, 
quantity and quality, it would seem that the latter was of 
first importance, yet it alone will not make the writings 
of an author classic. Byron, for instance, is said to have 
considered Chas. "Wolfe's " The Burial of Sir John 
Moore " one of the finest poems in the language ; it is 
perhaps better known than three fourths of Byron's 
works, but of the two, Byron, because he wrote so much 
that is grand, takes rank with the great poets of Eng- 



108 PROSE. 

land, while Wolfe's single literary gem is still treasured 
because of its worth; its lines undoubtedly meet the 
requirements of the critic ; but in the works of the great 
leaders, line after line and page upon page testify to the 
genius of the authors, and it is this accumulative 
evidence, this exhibition of sustained and continued 
power that has placed them in the higher rank. 

We wish then to review some American poems which 
have furnished pleasure to those who have a taste for 
poetical compositions. To make a passing mention only 
of American productions of this kind is a much easier 
task than if England with its centuries of literature 
were included: for while I may not be able to cover 
even the whole of the American field I believe that 
most of the poems of acknowledged worth produced in 
this country have been written in the last one hundred 
years, perhaps in the last fifty. True, I have here a 
book, a reprint of the New England Primer, editions 
of which were published as early as 1691, and I find 
here some — well, we will be easy with the writer and 
call them verses. 

But these are not included in my list ; someone else 
may champion their poetical worth, but I shall go by on 
the other side. The poet Whittier, himself, says that 



PROSE. 109 

the poetry of America extends back only a single gener- 
ation, that it actually began with Bryant's Thanatopsis : 
this is a pretty strict ruling, and if the ground is viewed 
with a less severely critical eye some pieces will be 
found whose friends would not like to have them cast 
so ruthlessly aside. Still, starting one hundred and 
twenty-five years ago, we travel a long distance before 
we reach anything which at the present time impresses 
us with the merit of true poetry. In the earlier years 
of this century there was published a large amount 
of a species of rhyming matter which Whittier calls the 
weak imitations of an artificial school, and passing from 
one of these productions to Thanatopsis is indeed like 
stepping from mud on to dry turf. It does seem 
strange that there was no American poetry worthy of the 
name one hundred years ago. For two or three centuries 
England had been producing poets, — why was not the 
line carried across the Atlantic ? It continued unbroken 
in the old world, yet scarcely a trace was transported to 
the new. It was from no lack of intellect that this 
dearth of poetry prevailed ; some of the brainiest men of 
the times were then living on these shores, two of the 
greatest productions of the mind which have appeared 
in modern times, the Declaration of Independence and 
the National Constitution, came at a time when the native 



110 PROSE. 

poetic literature consisted of Mother Goose, a few 
verses in Poor Richard's Almanac and scattering pieces 
in the newspapers, often of a scurrilous nature, and 
seldom rising above the plane of doggerel. The con- 
clusion must be reached, a natural one after all, that in 
founding a new nation ornate literature will not receive 
immediate attention : culture surely comes, however, 
with prosperity and peace. 

The first poet whose writings have found a place in 
any of the repositories of American literature is Philip 
Freneau, a poet of the Revolution ; his patriotic poems 
are said to have fired the American heart at that time 
and other pieces to have been of interest to the readers 
of that day ; but in looking over one of his volumes I 
fail to find any that now seem particularly entertaining ; 
this one in Piatt's selection from American poetry 
possesses smoothness and feeling.* Passing down the 
years, the next poet to whose side we pause is one 
whose acquaintance with the public of to-day comes 
almost through the agency of a single poem. Samuel 
Woodworth, the author of " The Old Oaken Bucket " 
was the son of a soldier of the revolution : he was born 
at Scituate in this State in 1785 and died in 1842. He 
came to Boston a young boy and entered a printer's 

*The piece referred to was here read. 



PROSE. Ill 

office, he then went to Baltimore and finally passed 
most of his life in New York City, where he published 
a literary journal in connection with Geo. P. Morris. 
In a sketch of the poet's life, Morris tells us the incen- 
tive to the writing of " The Old Oaken Bucket." 
Woodworth, he says, walked down from the office to 
dinner one sultry day, and entering the house, heated 
and thirsty, took a drink of water from the pump, a 
thing he could hardly do to-day in New York City ; the 
draught was not particularly refreshing and his mind 
went back to his boyhood's days and the cool water 
on his father's farm, and he " sighed for the bucket 
which hung in the well." He mentioned the thought 
to his wife and she advised him to write a poem on the 
subject; and he did so with the well-known result. 
And it is now a question for the curiously inclined to 
ask, if a drink of pump-water in summer brought forth 
such a poem, what would not a drmk of pipe-water at 
such a time have inspired. 

We now hear of Woodworth only as the author of 
this poem, yet he was a prolific writer : his pieces 
have been published in book-form ; the last edition, 
edited by his son and issued in 1861, consists of two 
small volumes, containing about three hundred short 
poems. Of this number, those grouped together as 



112 PROSE. 

pastoral pieces seem the most meritorious, with the 
exception of the famous one, they do not seem origi- 
nal, but rather imitations of English pastorals ; at any 
rate the scenes, characters and incidents are not such as 
we now see in Massachusetts towns : milk-maids and 
roundelays are supposed to be the exclusive property 
of the British poets. Perhaps because W oodworth used 
these words or because of a confusion of names, it is 
said that some of these pieces were taken as Words- 
worth's — they were printed in England and copied 
back into this country as the work of the latter poet. 
It is needless to say that they do not approach the 
excellence of the English writer. 

In looking over the two volumes, I do not find many 
pieces of interest, but I have selected one poem as 
another specimen of Woodworth which I should like to 
read. Strangely enough it is related to the bucket, 
bemg called " The Waterman."* The scene which it 
describes would hardly be found in the United States 
to-day, though before the entrance of steam navigation 
it may have been a common one. It is probable that 
when the poet lived in New York, the passage over the 
East River to Brooklyn and to the Jersey shore was 
made in boats propelled by oars, and we may look to 

*The selection was here read. 



PROSE. 113 

them as the source of these lines. In addition to his 
poetical works, Woodworth wrote a number of pieces 
for the theatre ; none of these plays, I believe, are known 
to the stage of to-day. Aside from the fact that his 
verses may be found m some large libraries by those 
who have a special reason for searching for them, Wood- 
worth comes before the present world only because of 
his authorship of " The Bucket " as the piece is called in 
his son's edition; a poem so simple, pure and natural 
and so filled with a pleasing fancy that it " is its own 
excuse for being " ; this fact shows us how much a man 
may write and yet produce matter only of a fugitive 
nature : indeed many writers of the past more prolific 
then Woodworth have not in one noted poem a single 
plank to rescue them from the sea of obHvion. 

Another poet whom we may well pause to consider, 
also a child of a soldier of the revolution, is Hannah F. 
Gould. The father of this writer, Benjamin Gould, 
was a noted warrior in the war for independence ; he 
started from Topsfield with thirty minute-men, when 
news was received that the British troops were march- 
ing from Boston to Concord and he received a wound 
in the fray at Lexington. He was at Bunker Hill and 
was the last man to leave Charlestown Neck on the close 
of that eventful da}^ so I suppose that he spent the night 



114 PROSE. 

in Sbmerville. Continuing in the service he served 
throughout the war as a captain and at its close settled 
at Newburyport, and in the homestead at this place his 
daughter spent most of her life. The family has been a 
noted one : her brother, Benjamin Apthorp Gould after 
graduating at Harvard in 1814, assumed the position of 
Prmcipal in the Boston Latin School and did much to 
found the reputation which the school enjoys. He left 
there m 1810, and became famous as an educator else- 
where. His son Benjamin Apthorp 2nd, is well known 
in the scientific world as an astronomer and statistician. 
Miss Gould began writing at an early age and made 
frequent contributions to literature throughout her long 
life which ended in 1865. Her poems are varied in 
character and exhibit a high order of talent. 

" Let me make the songs of a nation," some one has 
said, "and I care not who makes its laws. " Poetry 
wedded to music has ever held a potent sway over the 
human heart. Songs of patriotism and songs of senti- 
ment have quickened the pulse beat through all ages 
in all climes. The question often arises, to which of 
the component parts does a song owe its enduring pop- 
ularity : should the poet or the musician claim the 
greater share ? In some the beauty of sentiment 
expressed in the words seems to be the immortal part, 



PKOSE. 115 

while ill others the sweet expressive melody effectively 
claims pre-eminence. America, young in literature as 
she is, has yet some famous song-writers and a few 
songs which have been heard throughout the world. 
Assured has been the success of these songs as the like 
productions of any nations ; and in one or two instances 
their popularity has not been equaled. Of the patriotic 
songs " Hail Columbia " and the " Star Spangled Ban- 
ner" have long stood as ardent expressions of national 
sentiment. The lines of the former piece were com- 
posed in 1Y98 by Joseph Hopkinson, a lawyer of 
Philadelphia and a son of one of the signers of the 
Declaration of Independence ; the piece was written 
for the benefit of an actor named Fox and the music 
for it was arranged from a piece called the " Presidents' 
March," composed by a German named Feyler. 

The words of the second of these two songs were 
written as is well known, by Francis Scott Key, a 
young Baltimore lawyer, during the presence of the 
British fleet near that city in the war of 1812. 

To write a song which will animate the hearts of his 
countrymen for half a century is a great achievement 
for an author ; but to write a song which will touch the 
human heart throughout the world is a conquest of 
greater glory. Such is the meed we must give to 



116 PROSE. 

John Howard Payne, the author of " Home, Sweet 
Home." Payne is one of the most romantic and 
interesting characters produced by this land. A man 
endowed with genius and industry and gifted in many 
ways. A man who in his day accomplished much, but 
who lives in fame only as the writer of the immortal 
song, and of a play, the fine tragedy of Brutus. His 
brilliancy flashed forth at an early age and while in 
extreme youth his life work began. Strangely enough 
from the time of the death of his mother in the " lowly 
thatched cottage " at East Hampton, Long Island, occur- 
ring when the boy was thu-teen, to the last moment 
breathed away on the African coast he was a restless 
spirit, a man without a home. Payne wrote a number 
of poems of some merit before he was fourteen and at 
that age he composed a five act tragedy called " The 
Wanderer" which was produced at a theatre in New 
York. At eighteen he began the career of an actor 
which he followed for a long time, with varied, but, in 
the main, with brilliant success. His first performances 
in New York created an excitement and earned for him 
the title of " The American Roscius." In 1813 at the 
age of twenty-two, with the assistance of friends he de- 
termined to brave the uncertainties of an entrance upon 
the British stage ; he intended to be absent a year ; on 



PROSE. IIT 

the 17th of January his brother, Thatcher Payne, and 
friend Joseph Fay went with him to the wharf and 
saw him embark on a ship for Liverpool; the friend 
was not to meet him again as nineteen years had passed 
when Payne agam pressed foot upon his native land. 
In a few months the young actor was forcing his way 
along the difficult path which led to fame. He 
appeared in the same character, that of young Norval 
in the Tragedy of Douglas m which he made his 
first appearance on the New York stage — he was 
then eighteen, he was now twenty-two, and his success 
was great though he encountered much opposition from 
some of the native actors and their friends, and this 
pressure finally led him to abandon acting, havmg in the 
meanwhile resumed the wi-iting of plays. In 1818 he 
wrote his great " Tragedy of Brutus, or the Fall of 
Tarquin, " for Drury Lane theatre which then had 
Edmund Kean for its chief actor. The play was 
received with great favor, and to this day the greatest 
tragic actors have thought it worthy of their best 
efforts. The character of Brutus demands the highest 
exposition of the player's art. Bent on delivering his 
country from the Tarquinian yoke he assumes the 
semblance of a fool to avert the tyrant's suspicions. 
The lofty language given to the patriot in his natural 



118 PEOSE. 

moments is well sustained and the piece is a reading 
as well as an acting play. Payne continued his dra- 
matic work, confining his efforts chiefly to the trans- 
lation of successful French plays as they were produced 
in Paris and adapting them for the London stage. In 
1823 Charles Kemble became the manager of the Co- 
vent Garden theatre, London, and he soon sent word 
to Payne in Paris asking for plays. Payne sent 
three plays, offering them for two hundred and fifty 
pounds. One of them was a drama called " Clare the 
Maid of Milan " ; Payne suggested that this piece 
would make a good opera and agreed to write some 
songs for it. The manager accepted the proposals and 
Payne wrote some songs for Clare and among them was 
the now famous " Home, Sweet Home." Some time 
before while in Italy he had heard a peasant girl sing- 
ing an air which pleased his fancy, she could not tell 
him the name of the piece, but repeated the song at his 
request and Payne having a little knowledge of music 
jotted down the notes as well as he could. This plain- 
tive air which so pleased him suggested to him the 
words of " Home, Sweet Home," and he sent the words 
and the music he had noted down to Bishop, then the 
musical director at Covent Garden. Bishop recognized 
the tune as a well-known Sicilian air and adapted 



PROSE. 119 

the music to the words. The opera of Clar4 was first 
produced on the 8th of May, 1823, and "Home, Sweet 
Home," sung by Miss Tree as Clare was then first heard. 
It at once touched the popular heart, and in one year one 
hundred thousand copies were sold, and it is stated that 
no song has had such a circulation before or since. The 
publishers made a fortune from it, the theatre coined 
money from Clare, but the author received but fifty 
pounds for the copyright of the opera in addition to 
the sum mentioned for the three plays. With talents 
and industry, he knew not the art of making money. 
After twenty years' sojourn in Europe, Payne returned 
to the United States and after some years of literary 
work he was appointed United States Consul at Tunis : 
he was recalled at the end of the President's term and 
reappointed four years later, and died at Tunis on the 
9th of April, 1852, at the age of sixty-one. A few 
years ago his remains were brought to this country and 
interred at Georgetown Heights near the nation's Capital. 
Payne's dramatic works include eight tragedies, six com- 
edies, twenty-one dramas, five operas and nine farces, 
forty-nine in all ; of this list, Brutus alone, I believe, is 
now seen on the stage. 

Another American song-writer and more truly a song- 
writer is Stephen C. Foster. This writer was born in 



120 PROSE. 

Pittsburg in 1826 and died in New York in 1864. 
When an office boy of 16 he wrote his first song, " Open 
Thy Lattice, Love. " This was well received and 
Foster decided to give his whole attention to music. 
Negro minstrelsy holding quite a place in the amusement 
world, he turned his attention to writing pieces repre- 
senting life on the plantation and with marked success. 
His most famous song, " The Old Folks at Home, " 
established his reputation, and besides this he produced 
among others, " Old Uncle Ned," " My Old Kentucky 
Home," " Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," " Oh 
Susanna," and " Nelly Bly." In later years he dropped 
this class of work and wrote sentimental songs. The 
number including " Come where my Love lies Dream- 
ing, " " Willie, we have Missed You, " and " Old Dog 
Tray." Foster composed the words and the music of 
most of his songs, of which he published over a hundred. 
In his " Old Folks at Home " his musical skill touched 
its highest level and few songs have equaled this one in 
popularity, it has been published in different languages 
and the greatest singers of the old and new worlds have 
not disdained to appeal to their audience through the 
medium of its plaintive notes. 

Leaving the song-writers, we will stop a moment to 
mention a Boston poet of some note. Charles Sprague 



PROSE. 121 

was a Boston banker and a man of large general culture. 
It is said that he never left Boston but once in his life 
when he made a trip to Salem, Mass. In 1829 he read 
a dissertation on " Curiosity " before the Phi Beta Kappa 
society of Harvard, and that we may get some idea of 
this writer's style, I will give a selection from that 
poem.* 

If the genius of Poetry was late in establishing itself in 
America it has not failed to make itself felt in recent 
years. This paper has not mentioned even a tithe 
of- the writers who might come under the class which it 
attempts to review. The American magazines, the 
brightest of this class of periodicals perhaps printed in 
the world, besides giving to their readers some of the 
best poems of the greater poets are continually printing 
pieces from pens less famous, and all collections of 
American poetry contain many specimens of this kind. 
The minor poets are well cared for in such volumes 
and in selections for declamation they stand often in 
the front rank. 

* A selection from the poem mentioned was here read. 



122 ' PROSE. 



FORMATION OF THE CONSTITUTION OF 
THE UNITED STATES. 

Delivered before the Boston Young Men! 8 Congress. 

"A thousand years scarce serve to f orra a state, an hour 
may lay it in the dust." So wrote the poet Byron, and 
yet it would seem that our nation was builded in a lesser 
time. The first century of government under our 
national constitution is just completed, and it may not be 
uninteresting at such a time to review some of the steps 
that led to the creation of that instrument : to go back 
to the old days, to look in upon the past, and to witness 
there the actions of men and the course of events by 
which America was placed on a footing which has 
enabled her to fulfil her great mission in the cause of 
freedom and of self-government. The position, yes the 
existence perhaps of our nation to-day is due to this con- 
stitution, this charter of which the great Gladstone has 
said, "As the British Constitution is the most subtle 
organism which has proceeded from progressive history, 
so the American Constitution is the most wonderful 



PROSE. 123 

work ever struck off at a given time by the brain and 
purpose of man." Without such an agent of strength 
the long war of the revolution was carried through to 
a close. 

Let us first see then what form of government, if any, 
it was that directed the destinies of the colonies in that 
great struggle. History tells us that a number of dele- 
gates from different colonies assembled in Philadelphia in 
the month of September, 1774. They came together to 
consider a serious subject: their oppression by the 
mother country. Although a union of the colonies had 
previously been advised by Franklin and others, the 
assembling of this convention seems to have been due to 
the "Sons of Liberty" of New York. This organization 
was a committee of prominent citizens who had banded 
together to defend their rights in some differences which 
had arisen with Great Britain. As they were about to 
disband a suggestion was made and adopted to call this 
convention. Massachusetts pushed the matter forward, 
and vigorous work was done by influential men in the 
south; among others was Dabney Carr of Virginia, a 
young statesman whom death was to prevent seeing a 
nation arise at the call of his compatriots. 

At the meeting in Philadelphia there were present 
deleofates from twelve of the colonies : Georgia alone 



124 PROSE. 

being unrepresented. They called the body at first 
simply the Congress ; they met as direct representatives 
of the people, and throughout the first session assumed 
little or no authority for themselves. In organizing, an 
important problem to solve was the manner in which 
a ballot should be taken ; and it was finally decided that 
on all questions each colony should have one vote. This 
method instituted here continued in effect through each 
succeeding government up to the adoption of the con- 
stitution; and the influence thus established is seen in 
the creation of the national senate as provided for in 
that instrument. But little was done by the first con- 
gress otherwise than to prepare some addresses stating 
the grievances of the colonists, to be sent to the King, the 
people of Great Britam and to the Americans themselves, 
and advismg the holding of another congress the followuig 
year. These things being done the convention adjourned 
and the members traveled to their distant homes. In 
this meeting then, so simple in its inception, was held the 
germ of the miion of the States — the great republic of 
to-day. 

In the following May the second congress convened 
at Philadelphia as advised. The breach between the 
colonies and England had not been closed but widened, 
and the congress which contained in its membership 



PROSE. 126 

the most eminent men in America assumed the direc- 
tion of' the colonists in their efforts at resistance ; it now 
became known as the Contmental Congress and under 
its guidance the long war for independence was waged 
almost to the end. No formal draft of a union was 
made at this time, yet we find that the commission 
which this body gave to Washington styled him "Gen- 
eral and Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the 
United Colonies." The growing belief, however, that 
some compact, some stated bond of miion would 
strengthen the hands of the Americans caused steps to 
be taken for the formation of such a bond : accordingly 
we fuid Congress, soon after the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence considering the report of a committee offering a 
draft of "Articles of confederation." These articles, based 
on a plan of Franklin's, were adopted in November, 1777, 
and were to go into effect when ratified by all the colo- 
nies. Most of the legislatures speedily accepted them ; 
but Maryland withheld her consent, basing her action 
on the ground that certain lands claimed by different 
colonies should be given up for the good of all. This 
position seemed a reasonable one, and upon Virginia 
and Connecticut relinquishing their claims to certain 
territory in the west the Maryland legislature passed the 
act of ratification in November, 1781, and the Articles of 



126 PROSE. 

Confederation became the organic law of the land. Most 
of the revolutionary strife, then, was passed through by 
the Americans with no other form of government than a 
gathermg of representative men ; and about all that can 
be said of the powers with which they were clothed, is 
that they were allowed to do what they could to gain 
the freedom of the people, provided they did not exact 
much from the colonial legislatures ; and if we study 
the Articles of Confederation we find that a government 
of scarcely greater strength was created. The Conti- 
nental Congress, however, assumed some power, and its 
right to do certam things was not denied. It controlled 
the army as it came into the field ; it established a postal 
system ; it borrowed money abroad and issued bills of 
credit for domestic circulation at home. The small 
value of the privilege of performing this last function 
without more power over the people among whom the 
money was to circulate is seen in the rapid depreciation 
of the bills, one dollar soon being worth but six and one 
half cents in com. Fortunate it was that the leaders 
held the confidence of the people through the long and 
dark days of the revolution. With the surrender of 
Comwallis, at Yorktown, m October, 1781, the combat 
between Great Britain and the American Colonies vir- 
tually closed. The events of interest occurring afterward 



PROSE. 127 

being the evacuation of Savannah by the British in July 
of the followmg year ; the conflict between a party of 
British and Continentals at Combahee's Ferry, in which 
young Laurens was killed at the hour when his father 
was negotiating for peace in Paris, and believed to be 
the last action of the war on American soil ; the embark- 
ation of the French troops from Boston on Christmas 
Eve, and finally the evacuation of New York and the 
entry thereinto of Washington and Gov. Clinton, Nov. 
25, 1783. 

On the other side of the Atlantic the steps in the 
march towards peace were as follows : In March, 1782, 
the House of Commons voted to discontmue the war, 
thus compellmg the ministry of Lord North to resign ; 
and in the following year Richard Oswald was sent by 
Shelbume to discuss the terms of peace with the Amer- 
ican commissioners at Paris, while Thomas Grenville 
was selected by Fox to treat with the French Premier, 
Vergennes. When, after an exhaustive struggle of 
seven years the aggressive party declares for peace, it 
may be assumed that its opponents will be granted 
favorable terms ; and so it was ; the American commis- 
sioners succeeded m obtaining from the English emis- 
saries more than statesmen at home dared ask. How 
much longer the struggle could have been maintained 



128 PKOSE. 

we cannot tell ; as it was the Americans stood at York- 
town in 1781 exactly as they stood at Trenton in 1776, 
striving to maintain a position they had assumed, that 
of independence ; and that that position was to be freely 
granted where it had been so stoutly denied is shown by 
the lines of the provisional treaty signed at Paris by all 
the commissioners. 

This treaty, which may be considered as one of the 
most famous of state papers, was spread through nine 
articles ; and there was a tenth, a secret article. The 
American envoys were authorized to sign a conclusive 
agreement. Oswald, however, had been instructed to 
agree to such an arrangement as he might think proper, 
and then submit it to his government for inspection ; 
accordingly a draft of the document was sent to Eng- 
land. After some opposition it was approved, and the 
treaty was made definite at Paris. Copies were then 
sent to each government for formal approval, and on 
being ratified, articles of ratification were sent to the 
respective commissioners, who in turn exchanged with 
each other their country's verdict, the last act in the 
long line of their diplomatic labors ; so that it was not 
mitil November, 1784, three years after the surrender 
at Yorktown, that the white banners of peace were 
firmly secured. 



PROSE. 129 

The anxious Americans first heard of the signing of 
the provisional treaty on the same clay that Congress 
received a copy of the King's speech delivered before 
Parliament in December ; in this speech he announced 
the progress that had been made towards peace. In 
February they received from Franklin a journal of pro- 
ceedings and a copy of the provisional treaty. Great 
was the relief on the receipt of this mtelligence ; yet 
some indignation was expressed that the commissioner's 
should have concluded an arrangement without consult- 
ing their allies, the French, and a careful scrutmy of 
the situation will impress the student with the idea that 
Franklin did presume on his popularity with the French 
people to a dangerous extent. The secret article also 
startled the American legislators ; its history is an inter- 
esting one, and a brief statement regardmg it may be 
made. It will be remembered that when France 
announced her determination to assist the colonies, 
Spain, having a Bourbon prince on the throne, also 
declared war against England. Though her love for 
liberty and its representatives m the new world was 
probably small, yet Arthur Lee succeeded in obtaming 
one loan from the Spanish King. In arranging a peace, 
therefore, England was obliged to treat with three 
powers. Now by the second article of the provisional 



130 PROSE. 

treaty the Southern boundary of the United States was 
to be a line drawn from the Mississippi river along the 
thirty-first parallel of north latitude to the Chatta- 
hoochee river, thence along the northern boundaries of 
Florida, then owned by Spain. This was the arrange- 
ment, but Oswald evidently had something else in view ; 
for on coming to the end of the treaty, he succeeded in 
getting the American commissioners to agree to the 
adding of an extra article which was to be kept out of 
sight for a while, but was to go into effect if certain 
conditions were fulfilled: that is, if in treating with 
Spain, England succeeded in gaining possession of 
Florida, then the southern boundary of the new nation 
was to be along a line thirty miles north of the thirty- 
second parallel instead of at the thirty-first as provided 
for in the second article. Had this arrangement pre- 
vailed, a strip of neutral or hostile territory would have 
faced the southern as well as the northern boundary of 
the United States. Fortunately, when the British 
diplomats came to treat with the Spanish minister, 
Count Aranda, that statesman, though he yielded up 
Gibraltar, insisted on holding both his Floridas, and so 
the tenth article fell to the ground, and the territory 
being subsequently ceded to this government, the 
American orator, in sweeping over his country's dimen- 



PROSE. 131 

sions, has been able to say, " From Canada to the Gulf," 
which is more epigrammatic than "from Canada to 
within ninety miles of the Gulf." 

On the thirteenth of April, Congress received news 
from its minister that the twentieth of January had 
been fixed upon by all the powers as a date for the 
cessation of hostihties. Accordingly a proclamation 
was issued to that effect ; and it was on the nineteenth 
of the month, just eight years from the date of the battle 
of Lexington, that Washington paraded his little army 
at Newburgh on the Hudson, drew up his men in line, 
and read to them the mstructions of Congress which 
were the tidings of peace. In the following June the 
preparatory steps for disbandment were taken. On the 
second of November the troops were reviewed for the 
last time, and on the following day all men were dis- 
charged from the service. And so the drawn sword 
was sheathed. The Americans had achieved their inde- 
pendence — what were they to do with it. Before 
entering into the full enjoyment of their liberty, the 
reward of a long and valorous strife, the people of the 
new world were destined to drift hopelessly on through 
a period of uncertainty approaching anarchy. With the 
first shouts of triumph ringing m their ears, the states- 
men of the confederation were confronted with the 



132 PROSE. 

serious problem of meetinj^ debts incurred by tlie war. 
Pausing at the threshold of this clouded epoch, let us 
see where the league of thirteen states stood at the time. 
Gordon, a contemporaneous hist<^)rian, estimated the 
loss of men on the American side at 70,000, and 
Jefferson placed the cost of the war at -1140,000,000 ; of 
this amount the country now owed <|42,000,000. Com- 
pared with our late civil war these figures seem insig- 
nificant, but to the thirteen infant states they loomed 
up to an appalling magnitude. The prospect, never 
veiy bright from the time of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence and lightened only momentarily by the dawn 
of peace, now grew darker and darker from day to day. 
With tlie advent of the government of the confederation 
came no feelings of jf)y and security, and why? The 
compact was no sooner in force than it was deemed a 
worthless plan. It placed in the hands of Congress a 
barren sceptre. The union was a hollow one based on 
a false principle. From its provisions the states sought 
to receive much and yield up but little or nothing. 
And in looking over its lines now, the deficiencies are 
readily seen. Aiticle I said: "The style of the con- 
federation shall })e — The United States of America." 
This arijcle was destined to outlive its companions. It 
announc(!d the existence of a nation, and the ambassadors 
at Paris had a name all icady for the country whose 



PROSE. 133 

independence they were able at last to secure. Article 
II began with the words: "Each state retains its 
freedom, sovereignty, and independence." Here, then 
was a fatal source of weakness. Complete state sov- 
ereignty yields not national strength ; a league is not a 
union, it is a term for a weaker tie. But the statesmen 
of 1778 dared ask for no more. They felt that no more 
would be granted by the several legislatures. Indeed it 
is not improbable that the members by whom the com- 
pact was framed, were unwilling that the states they 
represented should yield up any of the individual pres- 
tige to which they had become accustomed through 
years of isolation and self-government. The sixth 
article gave a semblance of authority to the government 
over the individual states, as it said that no state should 
enter into an alliance with any foreign power without 
the consent of the United States. 

Article VIII was one of the most important of all, as 
it provided for a national treasury out of which all 
charges of war and other governmental expenses were 
to be paid. The manner of maintaining this treasury 
was as follows : Congress, after estimating the amount 
needed, was to call upon each state to furnish its share, 
the sum being in proportion to the value of the occupied 
lands, and buildings thereon, in that state. Each legis- 



134 PKOSB. 

lature was to levy and collect this tax and forward it to 
the general government. This plan, nicely arranged as 
it was, proved wholly madequate as will be seen. 
Without reviewing further, the thirteenth and last 
Article may be noticed. The text said that every state 
was to abide by the decisions of Congress on all ques- 
tions submitted by the Confederation to that body. 
The Articles of Confederation were to be strictly 
observed by every state, and the union was to be for- 
ever. As far as language is concerned, this seemed to 
be the embodiment of strength and stability. But with 
the extreme latitude of the preceding articles, especially 
that of the second, it proved but as a rope of sand to 
hold the states to their obligation. 

In short, the plan devised by the legislation of the 
Continental Congress as a lasting government for the 
new world, though carefully wrought, was destined to 
be a signal failure, causing a disastrous delay of years, 
and finally bringing humiliation to the eminent men 
who had served their country well under the most try- 
ing circumstances. The year 1783 passed away and 
Congress was still without means for raising a revenue. 
The country still owed eight millions abroad, with a 
domestic debt of thirty-two millions. 

The army was driven to the verge of mutiny by the 



PKOSE. 135 

failure of Congress to keep its engagements. The per- 
sonal influence of Washington and his promises, alone, 
probably averted such a calamity. In their distress 
some of the officers applied for relief to Robert Morris, 
then superintendent of finance. His reply was starts 
ling ; he told them that he not only had no money on 
hand, but that he had already over-drawn his account 
abroad ; yet forced to do something, he intimated the 
possibility of further drafts, depending on the friendship 
of France. Congress, in its desperation clutched at 
this straw, and m secret session actually authorized 
Morris to draw on the credit of an application for a loan. 

Previous to this incident, however, Congress had 
endeavored by more honorable means to raise a revenue. 
Acting on a suggestion of the Hartford Convention it 
had decided to place a duty of five per cent, on imports. 
And at this time was seen the weakness of the Articles 
of Confederation. To make a law of this kind it was 
necessary to gain the consent of every state. Most of 
them readily agreed to the proposition, but Rhode Island 
withheld her consent, instructmg her delegates in 
Congress to msist on state sovereignty. New York also 
refused. Here then were these two commonwealths 
blocking legislation of the most important character. 

An event at this time showed the civil government 



136 PROSE. 

tottering in its supremacy; letters were written, proba- 
bly from the most worthy motives, by Hamilton and 
Gouverneur Morris, assistant superintendent of finance, 
to Generals Washington, Knox, and Greene, suggesting 
that if the army in conjimction with other of the gov- 
ernment's creditors were to quietly yet persistently 
force its claims, the states might be coerced into giving 
Congress power to raise a revenue. The reply of the 
patriotic Knox, dictated probably by Washington was to 
the effect that a stronger Constitution was the proper 
remedy. Washington, however, asked that some degree 
of justice be shown to the needy veterans. He insisted 
that they should receive one month's pay at once, with 
the promise of two month's more pay to speedily fol- 
low. This was a modest request ; the soldiers should 
at least have something with which to return home. 
But Morris informed Congress that the sum equivalent 
to three months' pay was more than the States had con- 
tributed for two years ; he could only issue paper notes 
in anticipation of a revenue. And so the men of Val- 
ley Forge, of Monmouth, of Saratoga and Yorktown, 
shouldered their muskets and made their way home as 
best they could bearing with them as an equivalent for 
service ranging from three to six years, promissory 
notes for three months' pay, the cash value of which 



PKOSE. 137 

was two and a half shillings in twenty. An exasperat- 
ing fact in connection with this grievance of the army, 
was, that in the state governments the legislature 
always paid themselves and the whole civil list before 
adjourning. It was not that the resources of the coun- 
try were so inadequate, but that there was no adequate 
power to draw to the national treasury the necessary 
funds. 

The mercantile classes were becoming restless under 
the depressed state of affairs. The prosperous trade 
which the colonies enjoyed before the war did not 
return with the advent of peace. The arrogant eye of 
England watched the Americans at every point ; she for- 
bade their goods to enter the West Indies and allowed 
them m her own ports only when brought in British 
vessels ; while on the other hand her agents flooded the 
American towns with English goods for which the 
people still had a longmg, thus draining the country of 
specie which it could ill afford to spare ; for the govern- 
ment coined no money, and the value of the dollar and 
the shilling varied in every state. In addition to this 
harsh treatment by Great Britain, some of the states 
were passing laws which bore unjustly on their neigh- 
bors. New York for instance had established a custom 
house and imposed a duty on the produce sent into the 



138 PROSE. 

city by the farmers of New Jersey and Connecticut. 
As the evils of this state of affairs became apparent, it 
was not so much sentinent as commercial considerations 
that led the people to the belief that Congress must be 
vested with greater powers. 

Since the year 1781 Congress with all due formality, 
and with the authority given it by the Articles of Con- 
federation, had called on the states for ten millions 
of dollars. Of this amount only about one fifth had 
been paid. In 1787 the first instalment of the princi- 
pal of a debt of which the interest could not be paid 
would be due. France had extended the time for the 
payments due her and had striven to give all reasonable 
accommodation to the strugghng nation ; but the 
French minister Luzerne wrote home to his govern- 
ment advising them to do nothing more for a people 
who did not seem to exert themselves to meet their 
engagements ; for the country as a whole did not wear, 
and never has worn the aspect of poverty. The sol- 
diers of the revolution might continue their patriotic 
conduct and patiently wait for their dues ; but national 
honor and policy as well seemed to compel America to 
heed the claims of her European ally. Washmgton, 
Jefferson and other leading statesmen keenly felt the 
humiliation of their position ; but as yet no hope 



PROSE. 139 

could be entertained for united efforts on the part 
of the states. The prospect darkened on every side 
and it indeed looked as if all that had come to the 
Americans through their valorous strife would slip 
from their grasp. The American ambassadors in Lon- 
don in vain sought to obtain commercial recognition of 
their country. The British statesmen perceived the 
weakness of the bond of union between the states and 
believed that the confederation would be dissolved and 
that the states would drift apart and fall into discord 
and internecine strife. Jay, however, strong in the 
belief that his country would extricate itself from its 
difficulties, wrote home : " The present mmistry here 
is duped into an opinion of our not having energy and 
union sufficient to retaliate against their instructions; 
no time is to be lost in raising and maintaining a 
national spirit in America." A stronger government 
was indeed imperative ; we know that it came, let us 
trace the steps that led to its creation. 

In 1784 Jefferson, while in Congress, wrote to 
Madison, then in Virginia, suggesting that commis- 
sioners be appointed by the states of Maryland and Vir- 
ginia, to regulate the navigation of the Potomac river, 
then an important water-way to the west, and believed 
to be destined to greater prominence when that section 



140 PROSE. 

should be more thickly settled. He also wrote to 
Washington who was already interested in the plan, 
and then broached the subject to the Maryland dele- 
gates in Congress. The result was that in June of that 
year the Virginia Assembly appointed delegates to meet 
those to be appointed by Maryland and consider the 
matter. The Maryland legislature complied and the 
commission met at Mt. Vernon in March of the follow- 
ing year. The primary question disposed of, it was 
agreed that it would be well for the two states to act 
together on all commercial questions. 

In December of the same year the legislature of 
Maryland complied with the plan reported by the com- 
mission and in a letter to the Virginia Assembly 
announcing the fact suggested that it would be well for 
delegates from all the states to meet and arrange a gen- 
eral system of commerce. The alert mind of Madison, 
then in the state government, saw more perhaps in such 
a meeting than did his colleagues ; he immediately 
enlisted the co-operation of Tyler and together they 
drafted a resolution providing for such a meeting. 
Tyler presented the resolution and it was passed on the 
last day of the session, Jan. 21, 1786. The meeting 
was called for the first Monday in September at 
Annapolis ; the governor of Virginia issuing the invi- 



PEOSE. 141 

tations to the other states. At the appomted time 
Madison and his associates were on hand; but other 
states than Virginia were slow to respond. Massachu- 
setts and Rhode Island appointed delegates who started 
for the South, but who were met on the way with 
news of the adjournment of the Convention. The 
only states represented then were Virginia, New York, 
which sent Benson and Hamilton, Pennsylvania, New 
Jersey and Delaware. 

This weakness in numbers was discouraging; and 
the convention which had aroused interest and hope 
throughout the country could do little towards regulat- 
ing commerce. Before dissolving, however, it was des^ 
tined to perform one act which was to invest its exist- 
ence with an enduring interest, by making it an 
important part of the chain of events which led to the 
great realization. This act was the adoption of a reso- 
lution offered by Hamilton as follows : " that the states 
agree to meet at Philadelphia on the second Monday of 
the next May to consider the situation of the United 
States, and devise such further provisions as should ap- 
pear necessary to render the Constitution of the federal 
government adequate to the exigencies of the union ; and 
to report to Congress such an act as when agreed to by 
them and confirmed by the legislatures of every state 



142 PEOSE. 

would effectually provide for the same." Here then 
was a forward movement ; the outcome of that tenacity 
of purpose, bom of courage and conviction, which was 
not to be dampened by lethargy of support, nor quelled 
by force of opposition. The members unanimously 
pledged themselves to the proposition, dissolved the 
convention and journeyed to their distant homes. This 
step was destined to meet immediately with opposition. 
When the proposition reached Congress the Massachu- 
setts delegation prevented its consideration by that body. 
The governor of New York censured the delegates from 
that state to the Annapolis convention for going beyond 
theu' instiiictions ; and subsequently, Rufus King, 
before the legislature of Massachusetts, declared that 
Congress alone could amend its own powers. But it 
was a time for strong men to act and Madison and 
Hamilton kept to the task. The former, in the Virginia 
Assembly, in a preamble to a resolution, declared that 
the work of reconstruction could be better carried on in 
a special convention than in the halls of Congress where 
other questions must necessarily interfere. The pream- 
ble and the proposal for a federal convention were adopted 
without a dissentmg vote. The delegates were ap- 
pointed, and the governor sent notice of the action of 
his state to Congress and the other states. New Jersey 



PKOSE. 143 

was the first state to follow Virginia, appointing dele- 
gates in November, Pennsylvania acted in December, 
North Carolina in January, Delaware in February. 
About this time Madison was returned to Congress. 
He had been a member of the legislature of his native 
state at a time to inaugurate the movement and now his 
presence in the national government presaged good for 
the cause. Rufus King weakened, and in a letter to 
Gerry he said, " Although my sentiments are the same as 
to the legality of the measure, I think we ought not to 
oppose, but to coincide with the project." In the mean- 
time the state of New York at variance with the opin- 
ions of its most illustrious son, mstructed its dele- 
gates in Congress to propose a convention to be called 
by Congress itself ; the proposition mentioned no time 
or place, and met with little favor. King, now a con- 
vert to the cause, attempted in an ingenious manner to 
reconcile his present position with his past attitude on 
the question, by offering a resolution, which, while it 
made no mention of the Annapolis conference or its 
work, called a convention to be held at the same time 
and at the same place as provided for by the vote of 
that meeting. This seems a curious proceeding; but 
perhaps it was a necessary one. The motion was solemnly 
put and carried, and thus were the statesmen in Con- 



144 PROSE. 

gress able to gracefully recede from a losing position 
and to follow and lead in the same procession. The 
New York legislature again debated the subject, and 
after trying to cramp the powers of the coming conven- 
tion yielded to pressure and elected Yates, Hamilton 
and Lansing as its delegates; other states followed; 
New Hampshire, not until after the opening of the con- 
vention, while little Rhode Island refused to meet her 
sisters at Philadelphia. 

On the coming convention then, so seemingly casual 
in its inception, evolving probably from the meeting at 
Mt. Vernon, nourished by agitation and sustained by 
the inflexible energy of eminent men, the hopes of the 
people now rested. As the time for its opening 
approached the interest became intense and general. 
Many were the conjectures as to its results. The his- 
torian records that in the minds of many a king seemed 
probable, and that the British statesmen, keenly watch- 
ing each turn of affairs thought it hkely that a son of 
George IV would be selected ; or, that the Americans, 
grateful to France would call a Bourbon Prince to the 
throne. No such schemes were present in the mind of 
Madison who returned to his home with the one firm, 
clear conception of a federal republic, and bringing to 
bear upon the subject his entire energy and resources. 



PROSE. 145 

he set for himself the task of drafting the outline of 
a constitution. Washington also exerted himself in the 
same direction ; consultations together and with their 
colleagues led to the adoption of a plan, and a scrutiny 
of the situation shows that the labors of these men 
prior to the opening of the convention secured for 
Virginia the honor of presenting to the world the basis 
of our Constitution. 

The month of May, 1787, was at hand and all eyes 
were turned towards Philadelphia. Madison was the 
first delegate to arrive ; most of the Virginia delegates 
came on horseback, Washington receiving constant 
ovations along the route. Owing to the non-arrival of 
delegates it was not mitil the twenty-fifth of the month 
that a quorum of states was present ; on that day the 
convention organized with Washington as president. 
The assemblage was a remarkable one for there were 
gathered together the greatest of America's sons, — dis- 
tinguished generals of the revolution, eminent jurists, 
scholars and statesmen came together for the great 
work. Benjamin Franklm, recently returned from his 
long diplomatic service in France, and now m his eighty- 
second year, was the oldest member present ; Nicholas 
Gilman of New Hampshire, twenty-one years of age, the 
yomigest. In July, Yates and Lansing of the New 



146 PROSE. 

York delegation, reflecting the inharmonious feeling 
then prevailing in the state that sent them, withdrew 
from the convention ; Hamilton remained, but he alone 
could not cast the vote of New York, so the southern 
states were in the majority throughout the session. 

The task which the members had set for themselves 
was indeed a Herculean one : its fulfillment was to be 
the binding together firmly and iudissolubly thirteen 
commonwealths, differmg in history, in industries, 
climate and people ; states that had indeed m the hour 
of a common peril come together ; but who, now that 
the danger had past, were drifting apart; wrapping 
themselves up m exclusive groups or standing alone, 
and viewmg with jealous or indifferent eyes their neigh- 
bor's successes or misfortunes. States whose eminent 
men bended their efforts to serve their own common- 
wealths until indeed they had perfected for them con- 
stitutions which challenged the admiration of the world, 
but in which fostering pride and the theory of state 
sovereignty retarded the building of that grander struc- 
ture with which America's greatest sons longed to pos- 
sess their country. 

Washington had expressed the hope that the defects 
in the confederation should be thoroughly probed and 
that radical measures necessary to make a stronger 



PROSE. 147 

government should be agreed upon in the convention 
even though they should not be acce pted by the country 
In order that the members might debate with freedom, 
it was voted to proceed with closed doors, and mem- 
bers were required to refrain from sending word outside 
of the convention of its proceedings ; it being thought 
luiadvisable that subjects imder discussion should be 
placed before the comitry at the same time. 

As has been mentioned, the Virginians had made 
some preliminary outlmes of a constitution; and they 
now thought it proper to present their work to the con- 
vention. Accordingly, on the twenty-ninth of the 
month Randolph introduced it in the form of a series of 
resolutions. Of these resolutions the following subjects 
may be noted as furnishmg the substance of finished 
articles in the Constitution. 

1. Population to be the basis of representation in 
Congress. 

2. Congress to consist of two branches. 

3. Providing for an executive and council. 

4. Providing for new states. 

5. The new government to assume the debts of the 
confederation. 

6. The binding by oath of state officers to support 
the National Constitution. 



148 PKOSE. 

7. Providing for amendments to the finished Con- 
stitution. 

The system of the judiciary and some other features 
were taken from the New Jersey plan of wliich a draft 
was offered by William Paterson of that state. 

To agree upon the principles embodied in these reso- 
lutions, to put them into perfected form, and to add 
such new matter as should be thought necessary, was the 
work of the convention through the long summer. The 
task seemed almost impossible, the debates grew fierce 
and protracted; the commercial mterests of the North 
and the agricultural interests of the South clashed again 
and again. At times the life of the convention hung 
by a single thread, yet the members worked on with 
patience and zeal, and perhaps, with the energy of de- 
spair, for they felt that if failure came to them there, 
anarchy awaited them outside. 

The subject of slavery early presented itself as a 
troublesome question. The South itself was divided 
on this subject, many of the Virginia statesmen having 
strong feelings against the institution, and we may be 
sure that the opponents of the system obtained all that 
it was possible at that time to obtain, when it was finally 
agreed that the Constitution should prohibit the impor- 
tation of slaves after the year 1808. 



PROSE. 149 

One after one the vexed questions were settled either 
permanently or for the time being, until on the twenty- 
fourth of July twenty-three resolutions embracing the 
important subjects which had been advanced were re- 
ferred to a committee of detail of five members with 
instructions to draft therefrom a Constitution. On the 
sixth of August the committee submitted its report in 
the shape of printed copies. The convention again 
went over the ground amending, adopting, and other- 
wise putting the finishing touches to their great produc- 
tion. One of the final questions to decide was the 
method of placing the result of the convention's labors 
before the people. Some of the members disliked to 
have Congress pass upon the measure, but Hamilton 
and others thought that that body should certainly be 
the first to receive the Constitution. The words of the 
committee of detail were finally adopted, which were 
to the effect that the Constitution should be placed 
before the Congress with the suggestion that it be sub- 
mitted by that body to conventions of the people in the 
several states for ratification. On September tenth a 
committee of five was appointed to revise the style of 
the text and arrange the articles. This committee con- 
sisted of Johnson, Hamilton, Madison, Gouverneur 
Morris and King, and the final draft of the instrument 
was from the hand of Gouverneur Morris. 



150 PROSE. 

The Convention was approaching its last hours when 
Elbridge Geriy of Massachusetts and Randolph and 
Mason of Virgmia declared they could not sign the Con 
stitution. The convention was astounded. There is 
abundant evidence to show that all the members 
throughout the long session had been deeply impressed 
by the great responsibility that was attached to their 
labors, but now in the hour of triumph, when the 
task was nearing completion, these three of their num- 
ber, who had been among the ablest debaters, stood 
appalled at their own handiwork. The convention 
pleaded with them for unanimity, but pleaded in vain. 
On the morning of the seventeenth of September, the 
last day of the federal convention, Benjamm Franklin 
moved that the Constitution be signed by the members 
present. The motion was carried, and the parchment 
was unrolled on the table. Hamilton inscribed thereon 
in a bold hand the names of the states. Washington as 
president of the convention first signed, — George 
Washington, President — and then the state delega- 
tions came forward and signed. 

It is said that Queen Victoria has the autographs of 
all the signers of the Declaration of Independence. 
She should also secure those of the signers of this 
instrument, second only in interest to the older paper ; 



PROSE. 151 

some she would already have, for they had previously 
affixed their names to the Declaration. It remamed for 
the members to dissolve the convention, to dine together 
and to depart. 

And now a word as to how the constitution was 
received by the country. In a few days the draft 
together with a letter from Washington reached Con- 
gress then in session in New York. Says Bancroft, " It 
was only out of the ashes of the confederation that the 
new Constitution could spring into being ; and the let> 
ter of the convention did mdeed mvite Congress to 
light its own funeral pyre." 

But that body was ready for the sacrifice ; and after 
some debate, on the twenty-eighth of the month it was 
voted by the eleven states present to submit the con- 
stitution to the legislatures of the several states, to be 
placed by them before conventions of the people for 
action. By one of its provisions the Constitution when 
ratified by nine states was to go into force in those 
states. Delaware was the first state to accept the new 
government, a convention of her people passing a vote 
of ratification early in December. Other states followed, 
New Hampshire having the honor of calling the new 
government into being as it was the ninth state to ratify, 
Virginia following four days afterwards. 



152 PROSE. 

Congress on receiving intelligence that nine states 
had accepted the Constitution, proceeded to put it into 
effect, and after much debate it voted that the choice 
of Presidential Electors should take place on the first 
Wednesday in January and that the new government 
should begin on the first Wednesday of March, 1789, 
which was the fourth of the month, with New York to 
be the seat of government. It was thought fittmg that 
the new government should have more commodious 
quarters than the old one was enjoying, but who was 
to furnish them? The national treasury was empty; 
and that of the city of New York was found to be in a 
like condition. Fmally the merchants of the city put 
their hands into their pockets and fitted up a hall for 
the new administration. 

The fourth of March, 1789, was at hand. The ill- 
starred league of states was to fade away and a federal 
republic stand in its place. No great preparations were 
made for the transition; on the evening of the third 
the guns at the battery poured forth a farewell to the 
old government, and in the early dawn a greeting to the 
new. But our Constitution was not to make an impres- 
sive entrance. The day came; but the United States 
government came not ; and so with the next day and 
the next ; it was certainly most inauspicious. The anti- 



PROSE. 153 

federalists jeered in derision. It looked as though the 
country would be without any government. Most of 
the members of the last Congress of the confederation 
had gone to their homes ; those who remained met daily 
and with more or less form transacted business in the 
name of the United States. Finally on the sixth of 
April, a sufficient number of senators and representatives 
having arrived, Congress was organized and the electoral 
vote comited. Federal Hall not bemg ready, the inagu- 
ration was postponed until the thirtieth, and on that 
day Washington assumed the position of President of 
the United States, and the Constitution became the 
supreme law of the land. Six months later North 
Carolina accepted the constitution, and in May, 1790, 
Rhode Island lonely in solitude came into the sisterhood 
of states. 

The Federal Constitution — will it endure ? Is it for 
all time, or will there come a day when it shall have 
out-lived its usefulness ? Perhaps ! yet it would seem 
that with the power that it has within itself of expand- 
ing and extending by amendments, so as to meet new 
conditions, that it will long remain the foundation on 
which will rest a prosperous nation. 



154 PROSE. 



BURLESQUE FABLES. 



I. THE SENSITIVE SAW. 



A carpenter's boy having dug some holes with a file 
brought back the instrument to the shop, and placed it 
on the bench, whereupon a Saw, that lay there, shud- 
dered and drew away. The Hammer, noticing this, 
remarked, "You do not seem to like your neighbor.' 
"No," replied the Saw, "I cannot bear him ; he sets my 
teeth on an edge." " That is strange," said the Ham- 
mer ; " I find nothing wrong with him ; a little rough 
perhaps, yet a useful tool withal." " You do not come 
in contact with him as I do," added ^the Saw, at the 
same time turning away to soothe his feelings with a 
soft pine board that lay near. The Hammer said no 
more, but engaged in his customary pastime of hitting 
the Nail on the head. Moral — Business acquaintances 
need not be bosom friends. 



PEOSB. 155 

n. THE VOYAGEUE AND THE BEAVER. 

A Voyageur was voyaging up a river, when a snag 
caught in the rudder and held fast his boat. A Beaver 
on the bank, seeing the man's trouble, swam to his 
assistance, and, first weakening the branch by assid- 
uously gnawing it, severed it by a blow of the tail. 
Having done this, the Beaver was about to return to 
the shore, when the Voyageur, unable to restrain his 
thirst for gain, struck at it with his oar, hoping to gain 
another pelt ; he missed his aim, however, and fell into 
the water, the oar slipping from his grasp ; and on 
scrambling back into the boat, he saw the Beaver swim- 
ming away with it. Filled with alarm, the man cried 
out : " Stay ! I beseech you ! for far up the river my 
wife and children watch for my return, and already, 
you see, is the current bearing me down again." At 
this, the Beaver, who had noble qualities of soul, replied : 
" Sir, I could well use this piece of wood as light lum- 
ber in my houses ; but for the sake of those who await 
thy coming, I will return it thee." And with these 
words he passed the oar into the boat and swam away 
to inspect some building lots he had secured that morn- 
ing. Whereupon the Voyageur resumed his journey 
up the stream, keeping a sharp lookout for snags and 
beavers. 



156 PROSE. 

It is lucky that all of us are not so sordid as some of 
us. 



in. THE TREE AND THE MARCH WIND. 

A March Wind come out of the north one night and 
swept down upon a forest, bending the trunks of the 
tall trees and making their great branches to creak and 
groan. At length an Oak Tree put out his head and 
said : — 

" Here ! who 's there ? " 

" Oh, it is only I," said the March Wind. " I have 
come to awaken you from your long winter's sleep." 

" Well, did you shake the rest of the trees like that ?" 

" Oh, yes. I have been all over the lot." 

" Did you shake up that old chestnut over there ? " 

" Certainly." 

«WeU, he's dead." 

" Never mind. I shake them all, both the quick and 
the dead, then no one is slighted. But soft ! The 
morning dawn now purples the east. Farewell 1 I 
must leave thee now." 

" Farewell ! " said the Tree. " I must leave myself in 
a few weeks." 



PROSE. 157 

IV. THE SORROWING CROCODILE. 

A Lion on coming to the river's edge was struck 
with the dismal sound of lamentation, and looking up 
the stream he saw two crocodiles bitterly weeping. 

" How, now ! " said the king of beasts ; " these tears 
move me as I am not wont to be moved. I will ask 
the reason of their flow ; and if it be a just cause for 
grief, perchance myself will manifest some degree of 
sorrow." 

Accordingly, he approached to within a respectful 
distance and called out : — 

" Ho ! peaceful citizens in armor ! Why weep ye 
here by the banks of old Nile ? " 

" Alas ! dear sir," said one of the crocodiles, " the 
cause is indeed a great one. Hearing that the river 
had receded during the night and left large numbers of 
fishes to die on the banks, we hurried to the scene of 
the disaster. The slaughter has indeed been great, but 
we find that the fish are of a kind having an exceeding 
poor flavor at this season of the year, and so we are 
sorely tired." 

*' So," said the Lion, contemptuously, " these be croco- 
dile's tears ; I '11 waste no pity on them." 

And he scomfuUy turned and hied him away to the 
bosom of the desert. 



158 PROSE. 

He who weeps over the misfortunes of others simply 
because there accrues to him no benefit therefrom sheds 
indeed but crocodile's tears. 



V. THE HEN AND THE DUCKLING. 

A man in Rome, N. Y., thinking that he must do as 
the Romans did, placed some duck's eggs under a sit- 
ting Hen. (See Cicero.) In due time some ducklings 
were hatched, and the Hen, though struck with the 
open countenances of the new-comers, felt sure that 
they would be placed on the parish register to her credit 
and so led them forth with an air of subdued trirmiph. 

In caring previously for her different broods of 
chickens she walked along a bank that sloped down to 
a pool of water ; and if any of the chickens showed a 
disposition to go near to the pool, the Hen quickly 
whipped them into line by telling them that a hawk 
would swoop and carry them off if they left her side. 
The ducklings early in their career were led past this 
same bank, and they at once sang out in chorus, 

" Mother, may I go out to swim " ; 
when the Hen, somewhat startled, had recourse to the 
hawk story, and the ducklmgs reluctantly toddled on. 
One day, however, the ducklings deliberately made a 



PROSE. 159 

stand at the bank, and one of their number, addressing 
the Hen, said : — 

" Mother ! under certain systems of raising poultry 
there comes a time to a duck when he must choose 
between reason and mstinct. Reason tells us that we 
would do well to follow one who has so kindly cared 
for us ; instinct impels us into paths untrodden by your 
feet ; believe us, it is not that we love thee the less, but 
that we love the water more, that we make this plunge. 
Good-by ; we shall ever be with you in spirit " ; and at 
the conclusion of this speech, the whole brood rushed 
pell-mell down the bank and into the pool. 

The poor Hen was for a moment distracted; but 
when she saw the ducklings stand on their heads under 
the water, and then come up with smiles on their faces, 
she felt that her worst fears would not be realized ; and 
saying sadly to herself, " I see that I am not wanted 
here," she walked away and sought consolation in some 
choice pieces of oyster shell. 

Experience meets with some surprises. 

VI. THE SURLY AI. 

Two Monkeys who hved in the lower branches of a 
large tree thought one morning that they would visit 



160 PROSE. 

an old Ai who dwelt above. Accordingly they ascended 
to his apartments, and after some commonplace remarks 
had been interchanged, one of the Monkeys said to the 
sloth : — 

"How is it about your name; do you like tofbe 
called Aye-aye or Ai ? " 

"I — I have no choice in the matter," said the Ai, 
scanning the ground with his back ; "a more important 
question, it seems to me, is. How many removes do you 
consider yourselves from mankind ? " 

This blmit method of thwarting their desire for 
information disconcerted the Monkeys ; and seemg that 
their neighbor was in ill humor, they bade him " good 
mommg," and lowered themselves down by their tails to 
the lower story of the tree. Whereupon the Ai, in an 
excited state of mind, attempted the difficult act of 
standing on his feet. 

To evade giving an answer to a question by asking a 
question is hardly fair. It may serve in a political 
discussion ; but it should not be resorted to in conver- 
sation. 

VII. THE TRANQUIL HOE. 

A laborer in a garden, lookmg up at the sun, saw 
that it was high noon. Accordmgly he dropped his 



PROSE. 161 

implements and sought the shade of a leafy hedge to 
eat his frugal fare. Hardly was the laborer's back 
turned when the Rake, a quarrelsome fellow, called out 
to the Hoe : — 

" I have done more work than you, this morning." 

" I have done what has been required of me," replied 
the Hoe. 

"You could not do what I have done," said the 
Rake. 

"It is unnecessary that the same work should be 
done twice," said the Hoe. 

"Well! my handle is longer than yours," said the 
Rake. 

"Mine reaches to the ground," said the Hoe. 

Whereupon the Rake, m a rage, tore up the sod with 
his teeth ; while the Hoe, with mild mterest took the 
dimensions of a neighboring field of growing corn. 

Some fur won't fly. 



VIII. THE MERCIFUL ANACONDA. 

A Fawn was bounding along the edge of a thicket, 
when an Anaconda sprang forth and seized him ; and, 
winding liis body around the unfortunate creature, held 



162 PROSE. 

him fast in his coils. The poor Fawn, after stmggling 
in vain to escape, cried out : — 

" Oh, sir ! have pity, for even now, as I passed the 
jungle, something struck me in the side, and now you 
cruelly detam me." 

At this remark the Anaconda glanced at the Fawn's 
side, when he saw that a wound had been made there 
by a poisoned arrow, and having an aversion for tainted 
meat, he released his hold, and said, with quiet dignity 
in his tones : — 

" Go, sir, to your people, and tell them from me that 
the Anaconda has soft spots on his heart, and knows 
when to be merciful. 

On hearing these words, the Fawn gleefully fled; 
but died upon reaching the threshold of his home. 
Whereupon, the Anaconda, in lieu of a meal, found 
amusement in tymg himself up in a very pecuhar kind 
of a knot, which he had learned from a ship-wrecked 
sailor. 

He is indeed audacious who expects a reputation as a 
philanthropist for simply being good to himself. 



PROSE. 163 

IX. THE GLADIATOR AND THE LION. 

A Gladiator and a Lion were facing each other in the 
arena, when the Gladiator, addressing the Lion in low 
tones, said: — 

" Leonard ! why should you and I seek one another's 
life. The world is wide ; and surely there must be 
something higher than to kill. Let us but fight in 
jest." 

" Perhaps you are right," replied the Lion, tracing 
his initials in the sand with his paw ; " and, in truth, I 
myself have become something of a peace advocate 
during my forced sojourn m Rome. It shall be as you 
say. We will but fight in jest." 

And with these words the Lion couched on the earth, 
and lashing his sides with his tail, he winked his left 
eye at the Gladiator, and sprang upon him, strikmg liim 
in the face with his paw. But the claws were sheathed, 
and the blow was but lightly dealt. The Gladiator, in 
tui'n, now drew back, poised for an instant, and then 
thrust his sword with great vigor at the Lion, taking 
care, however, that the blade should but plough up the 
animal's mane. 

" Death and fury ! " shouted the emperor in a rage, 
and, rising in his box : " What manner of child's play 



164 PROSE. 

is this? Take out this pair, and do away with them, 
and bring on some fighters. Look to it, slaves ! " 

And at this command the poor Gladiator and the 
Lion were led forth to their doom ; and an elephant, a 
bull, and five gladiators were hurried in to restore the 
emperor to good humor. 

In the various positions of life it is well to ascertain 
just what is expected of us. Gladiators are kept for 
fighting purposes. 

X. — THE HUMBLE BUMBLE-BEE. 

Some Honey-bees were plymg their trade in a garden, 
when a Bumble-bee buzzed into their midst. 

" Here, fellow ! " said one of their number ; " why 
do you come this way ; your presence offends us. Go 
back to your miserable hole in the ground." 

" It is no crime to seek food and fresh air," replied 
the visitor. " I know that my abode is lowly ; but 
virtue and contentment are as like to dwell in the 
subterranean cell of the humble Bumble-bee as in the 
hive of the haughty Honey-bee, painted and blinded 
though it is." 

" Speak not to us of our home," said the Honey-bee. 
"Why don't you feed on potatoes ; then you would not 
have to show yourself above ground." 



PROSE. 165 

" It is not for such as you to appoint my diet," said 
the Bumble-bee. " The sun-touched rose and the dew- 
tinctured lily may be as acceptable to my palate as to 
yours. Besides, it is a treat for the lady-bugs to see me 
pass occasionally in my bright coat of yellow and 

black." 

"Aha!" exclaimed the Honey-bee. "We thought 
we should find you out. You talk to us of fresh air, 
while your thoughts are charged with vanity. You 
prate of virtue and dew-tinctured lilies, when your heart 
is in your coat of many colors. Get thee hence, 
dissembler ! " 

And thereupon the Honey-bee and his companions 
beset the poor Bumble-bee about, and drove him forth 
from the garden. 

He who would go where he is not wanted should 
indeed be without blemish; for if he has ninety-nine 
virtues they will be passed lightly over, and his one 
fault be diligently brought forth. 

XI. THE PLEASANT PHEASANT. 

A Pheasant in the forest, on being asked by a Shrike 
why he was always so pleasant, replied : — 

" I am pleasant because it is more pleasant to be a 
pleasant pheasant than an unpleasant pheasant." 



166 PROSE. 

"Oh," said the Shrike; and the conversation here 
ceased. 

Idle questions deserve idle answers. 

xn. — THE goat's retort. 

A peaceful Goat was nibbling at some acorns in a 
field, when a Cat, passing through, came up to have a 
chat with hmi. 

" Good sir," said the Cat, " do you know that a very- 
laughable question comes into my mind when I see 
you? That coat of yours, it is hardly soft and fine 
enough to pass for silk, neither is it curly enough to be 
classed as wool ; yet you stick to it closely." 

" True," said the Goat, raising his head. " It is, I 
admit, a problem for the curiously inclined. And I 
understand that they who sit at the receipt of customs 
have been much concerned with it. But let that pass ; 
the coat fits, and I wear it. Strangely enough, though, 
I too am sometimes possessed with an amusing fancy. 
As I lie in my box-stall at night, if I chance to hear 
your voice, — as is apt to be the case, — I am led to 
consider what rank should be given it. It is hardly so 
full and sonorous as that of a fine orator, neither does 
it possess that melodious cadence which has ever been 



PROSE. 



167 



the chief charm of our greatest cantatrices; yet you 
cherish it most persistently." 

At these words, the Cat, who did not desire to be 
brouglit mto such prominence, slirank back, and, for- 
getting that a hmit for field mice was on the day's 
programme, stole away and crept under a shed. 
Whereupon the peaceful Goat, once more alone, 
bethought himself of his usual recreation, which was the 
making of dents in the oak tree. 

Wit is an uncertain servant. As a warrior it sallies 
forth ; but oft returns bearuig scars mstead of trophies. 

XIII. — THE DISCREET CADI. 

Two men while hunting in a Turkish Province saw 
an antelope, and each fired at the same moment, the 
animal falling dead. A violent dispute arising as to 
whom the prey belonged, they finally agreed to go 
before the Cadi. Accordingly, the two men took up 
the antelope and bore it to the place of justice. The 
Cadi, after listening to the stories of the men, rephed : — 

" This case will require much consideration ; take up 
the dead animal and bear it to the southern gate of the 
city, and hang it on the palm tree that stands outside 
the gate, and after six days return here." 



168 PEOSE. 

The two men did as told, bearing the animal outside 
the city's gate and hanging it on the palm tree. At the 
appointed time they repaired to the palm tree to convey 
the antelope again to the Cadi. Meanwhile the warm 
weather had spoiled the flesh for food, and one of the 
men perceiving this exclaimed — 

"Now that I reflect, I can easily see that I could not 
have hit the beast m a vital part." And with these 
words he turned away. 

" By the beard of the prophet ! " cried the other, " it is 
any man's but mine " ; and spurning the carcass with 
his foot he strode off in an opposite direction. 

The Cadi sat in the hall of justice until the going 
down of the sun ; and, the men not appearing, he then 
dismissed the case. Whereupon the Sultan, hearing 
with joy of the Cadi's great wisdom, sent hmi a robe of 
purple and appointed him to the cadiship of a distant 
province, whose three previous rulers had been strangled 
by the inhabitants for making unpopular decisions. 

XIV. THE CHANTICLEER AND HIS HENS. 

One bright morning m May a Chanticleer led forth 
his hens in quest of food. Filled with his importance, 
the Chanticleer strode onward, pluming his feathers. 



PEOSE. 169 

raising his wings, and crowing lustily. Wishing to 
obtain some homage for his vocal efforts, he turned to 
his companions, and cried out : — 

" What do you think of my solos ? Am I not in fine 
voice this morning ? " 

" Yes," replied a pert Pullet ; " we have been noticing 
your performance ; it is so very funny to see the odd 
contortions that your neck goes through while you are 
struggling with the crescendos." 

An awkward silence followed this remark ; but the 
Chanticleer, seeing a dor-bug in the distance, ran for- 
ward, and deftly captured it; and then calling up the 
hens, he swallowed the prize with great gusto remark- 
ing that the beetles of that species were particularly 
juicy in the spring months, which piece of information 
seemed to arouse but little enthusiasm among the 
other members of the group. 

Pride may have a fall; but neither does a cutting 
tongue slice any cake. 

XV. THE HAPPY HARPY. 

A Harpy, having slain a young pampas deer, was pre- 
paring for a meal, when a Tanager, flitting by, paused 
and remarked, " Well, sir, you seem pleased with things." 



170 PEOSE. 

" Yes," said the Harpy, tearing a piece of flesh from 
the shoulder of his prey ; I am never so happy as when 
attending to the wants of the inner man." 

" But," asked the Tanager, " have you no compunction 
in killing so fair a creature ? " 

" Wlty, no," responded the Harpy, — at the same 
time regaling himself with an eye from his victim ; — 
" it is the custom with my people ; and as for that, you 
yourself are not confined to a diet exclusively vegetable." 

"No," replied the Tanager; "but the insignificant 
insects that I devour are not to be compared with the 
pride of the pampas." 

" I am not so sure of that, rejoined the Harpy, as he 
tore the entrails from the carcass ; " a life is a life. Can 
you not see that hopes, joys, aspirations, longings for 
something better, — all, all are as completely crushed 
when you spear one of those little insects with your 
tongue as when I, with beak and talon, strike at the 
heart of my quarry ? " 

" I cannot deny the truth of your assertion," replied 
the Tanager ; " and yet it had never so occurred to me." 

" You will further admit, then," continued the Harpy, 
" that there is also truth in the old adage, that ' people 
who live in glass houses should not throw stones. ' " 

" Oh, yes," said the Tanager ; " I agree with you 



PROSE. 171 

there perfectly ; putty is the missile to be used by indi- 
viduals of that class. Well, I think I will eat fifty or 
a hundred more flies for my supper, and then go home 
and think further of your remarks ; for believe me, sir, 
they have much interested me." 

" Do so," said the Harpy ; " I shall remain here for 
the present and further pursue my anatomical studies 
of the quadrumana." 

XVI. — THE FLY AND THE OX. 

An Ox, while drawing a plough in the fields, noticed 
that a fly had remained perched upon his back for some 
time. Accordmgiy, he turned his head, and said rouglily, 
" Look here, youngster ! Don't you think you are riding 
a free horse to death ? " 

" I am afraid I have not given much thought to the 
matter," replied the Fly. " I have so much enjoyed from 
my position here, viewing the scenery on hill and dale, 
breathing in the fresh country air, and listenmg to the 
rude snatches of song that now and then fall from the 
ploughboys' lips. But perhaps I am a trifle heavy." 

" Oh ! it is not your weight," said the Ox, petulantly. 
" But here I am toilmg in the glebe, bearmg the heat 
and burden of the day ; and I dislike the self-satisfied 



172 PROSE. 

holiday atmosphere with which you surround yourself. 
It vexes me beyond measure." 

" Why," said the fly, " I had no wish to irritate so 
noble an animal as the ox ; and as it is luncheon time 
with me, I will at once go and eat a section of a black- 
berry if I can find some fruit that is over-ripe." And 
so saymg, the Fly left the Ox's back and flew away. 
Whereupon the Ox, unable to regain his composure, 
jumped from the furrow, overturning the plough, and 
breaking the chain, thereby bringing much trouble to 
the ploughboy. 

Only an actor wants an audience when hard at work. 

XVn. THE MATHEMATICAL MILKMAID ANEW VER- 
SION OF AN OLD TALE. 

One bright May morning, a Milkmaid bearing on her 
head a pan of milk, stepped forth from her cottage to 
go to the market-place. Fair was the maid, and fair 
was the day. The breath of the hawthorn stole from 
its hiding place, and mingled with the morning gale ; 
the trees waved their high tops in gladness ; and glisten- 
ing brightly by the roadside lay the tender grass, wet 
with new dew. Blithely the milkmaid tripped along; 
and while the blackbirds whistled in the bending boughs. 



PROSE. 173 

and the lambkins gamboled on the lea, the Maid thus 
soliloquized : " Let me see : for this pan of milk which 
I bear on my head, I shall receive a dozen of eggs. 
These eggs I shall place under a sitting hen : and when 
the eggs have hatched and the twelve chickens are 
grown, I will take these chickens to market, where I 
shall receive for them enough silver to buy me a pink 
gown and ribbons to match." Hardly had she finished 
these remarks, addressed to herself, when she stumbled 
on a stone and almost fell ; but recovering her equipoise, 
she caught the pan of milk as it w^as sliding from her 
head and thus saved most of the contents, though a por- 
tion of the milk was spilled on the ground. A kind- 
hearted farmer, however, happenmg to come along, 
replaced the lost portion from his store, besides offering 
the maid a seat in his wagon. Arriving at the market- 
place, the milkmaid quickly exchanged her milk for a 
dozen eggs, and thereupon hurried home and put them 
under the hen. In due time the shells of ten of the 
eggs were broken, and as many chickens followed the 
hen out of the nest. When the chickens were grown 
the Milkmaid took them to market; but as there were 
but ten in number, she received silver enough only to 
buy the gown, and was obliged to forego the ribbons. 
In counting chickens before they are hatched, an allow- 



174 PROSE. 

ance should be made for at least two eggs in every dozen 
not being susceptible to incubation, 

XVIII. THE EEL AND THE ALEWIFE. 

An Alewife, having completed its domestic arrange- 
ments in a pond, was about to return to the sea, when 
it saw an Eel who had previously done it a service. 
"Eli," said the Alewife, "would you not like to go 
down with me to the ocean ? I will show you a body of 
water, compared with which this pond of yours is but 
as a drop in the bucket. " " No," replied the Eel, " I 
do not care to travel. I think one should see his own 
country first, and there are parts of this pond in which 
I have never been. I have relatives living in the salt 
water, but I never visit them. If it will be agreeable 
to you, however, I should like to accompany you a short 
distance." " I should be pleased to have you," said the 
Alewife, and so together, the two fishes swam down the 
stream. On reaching a bend in the brook they parted 
company, and the Eel, who tarried for a moment to watch 
his late companion, was about to turn away, when he saw 
something passing uj)ward through the water. The 
object proved to be a net held by a man on the bank, 
and in the meshes was an Alewife. " Ah," said the Eel, 



PROSE. 175 

as he retraced his steps, " sad is the fate of him who 
leaves his native heath." His musings, however, were 
cut short on entering the pond, for he espied a worm 
among the weeds ; and being hungry, he seized the 
worm, and was about to bite off a piece, when something 
cut into his jaw, and he felt himseK bemg drawn through 
the water. In spite of his struggles, the poor Eel was 
pulled from the pond on to the land, where a boy grabbed 
him, and takmg the hook out of his mouth, threw him 
into a basket. 

Some of us die on the sea, and some of us die on the 
shore ; and all of us f oIIoav our bent. 

XIX. — THE WARRIOR AND THE FOSTER-CHILD. 

A Warrior was returning from his wars when he saw 
a Foster-child seated by the roadside. Laying his shield 
on the ground, and leaning upon his spear, the Warrior 
said to the Child, " Prythee, little one, do they miss me 
by the fireside in the even-tide?" "Even so," replied 
the Foster-child. " I heard the folks say last night that 
they wanted you to work in the fields the minute you 
got home. Onions are big this year." And the Child's 
eyes glistened at the prospect of a bomitiful harvest. 
"So soon, so soon," said the Warrior sadly : "before I 



176 PKOSE. 

have had a chance to tell them of the battles, sieges, 
fortunes, I have passed ? Well, I will do all that becomes 
a man. What ! Hoe ! On to the onion held ! " And so 
saying, the warrior picked up his shield and followed 
the Foster-child toward the village. 

" Peace hath her victories no less than war " — but 
each kmd should have its time of celebration. 

XX. THE AWKWARD AAEDVARK. 

The birthday of a young Aardvark coming around, 
his parents decided to have a party. Accordingly, at 
the appointed time, the guests assembled and ranged 
themselves on one side of the room ; the members of the 
family being stationed on the other side. After some 
conversation and games, the young Aardvark went into 
another room and returned bearing a dish of dried ants* 
On re-entering, however, he stumbled and fell, spillmg 
the ants on the floor at the feet of the guests. The 
young Aardvark upon rising remarked to the guests 
that perhaps they could eat the ants from the floor. 
The visiting aardvarks quickly acted on the suggestion 
and devoured the food. The yomig Aardvark, mean- 
while, went out for a second dish of ants, but on return- 
ing he again tripped and spilled them as before ; the 



PROSE. 177 

visitors again quickly devouring them. The young 
Aardvark was about to go for a third supply, when an 
elderly aardvark, a relative of the family, said to him in 
a low voice, " Aardy, if you must spill the ants every 
time you come into the room, won't you just hold the 
plate the next time so that a few of them will roll 
toward your relatives ? " And Aardy said he would do 
so. 

Be kmd to the stranger withm the gates, — and 
remember also the old folks at home. 



XXI. THE SOCIABLE KIDLING. 

A Kidling on takmg its first walk abroad saw a calf 
standmg in a barnyard. Walking up to the gate, and 
thrusting its head in between the bars, the kidlmg cried 
out, " Well, Boss, what 's the news in uppers ? " " Oh ! 
I don't hear anything," replied the calf, at the same time 
putting his head to the ground and flinging his heels 
into the air so delighted was he to have a caUer. 

" Mother says she '11 comb lots of hayseed out of my 
hair before I am wanted for leather. What do you 
hear that's new m the kid-glove trade." 

" Nothmg," answered the Kidling ; " father says that 
that business has about gone from our house. By the 



178 PROSE. 

way, can you give me a good receipt for making calves- 
foot jelly?" 

" Oh, you had better not try to make any jelly," said 
the calf ; " you will only put your foot in it." 

" Well," said the Kidling, backing away from the gate, 
" I believe that I will go around to the barn cellar and 
try to climb the gTindstone." 

" Do so," responded the calf, " it will be more fun 
than a goat; I suppose that I must stay here flu-ting 
with these hens until the cows come home." 



XXII. THE SQUIRREL, THE COUGAR, AND THE PYTHON. 

A Squirrel happening to espy a Cougar stealthily 
approaching, ran up a tree and out on a branch for 
refuge. The hungry Cougar dashed up the tree in pur- 
suit, but as the limb which harbored the Squirrel was 
a slender one, the Cougar could go but to a certain 
point where he crouched and watched his prey, while 
the Squirrel, in the mean time, turned about, sat on his 
haunches, and returned the gaze of his pursuer. In 
this manner each animal retained its position for a long 
time. At length a Python, who had been slidmg about 
at the foot of the tree, raised his head and called out, 
" Excuse me, gentle denizens of the forest, for seemingly 



PROSE. 179 

interfering in a matter about which I apparently can 
have no concern, but if permission were granted me to 
say a few words I believe that I could advance a sugges- 
tion which would do away with a state of affairs which 
must be irksome in the extreme." On hearing these 
words, the cougar, who was weary with waiting, and who 
for some time had been thinking that perhaps he could 
find food more to his taste elsewhere, expressed a willing- 
ness to hear the suggestion. The squirrel also assent- 
ing, the python continued, " My plan is this : you sir," 
addressmg the cougar, "are to ascend to the next 
branch, and thus allow the Squirrel to attempt to gain 
the next tree, from which, if reached, he can easily pass 
into the forest, and out of harm's way ; while, on the 
other hand, from your swiftness of action, it is highly 
probable that you will overtake him, and thus gain a 
coveted meal." The Cougar, relying on his agility, 
decided to act upon the suggestion, and so ascended to 
the limb above, and the poor Squirrel, accepting the 
chance for escape, ran nimbly down the tree. Before 
he reached the ground, however, the Python caught 
him in its jaws and glided away to the jmigle, crying 
out as he went, " I sometimes eat a bit of Squirrel meat 
myself when hard pushed," whereupon the Cougar, dis- 
dainmg to make reply to the dissembling Python, or to 



180 PKOSE. 

take note of the jeers of the monkeys who had viewed 
the scene from the neighboring trees, descended the 
trunk, and, calhng up for consolation, for the third time 
that day, the words of the old proverb that a nap is as 
good as a meal, he curled himself up at the base of the 
tree, and was soon fast asleep. 

XXin. THE EXPECTANT FISHERMAN. 

A Fisherman rose with the dawn and went forth to 
fish in the sea. After some hours a laborer, going to 
the fields, saw the fisherman on the rocks and called 
out: — 

" Well, friend, what luck?" 

" Oh, nothing as yet," replied the other ; " the tide is 
low ; I expect to do better soon." 

At noon the laborer again passed, and seeing the 
fisherman still on the rocks cried out — 

" What now of the catch ? " 

"Nothmg as yet," answered the Fisherman; "the 
water is rough ; when the wind dies I expect to make 
great havoc with them." 

At night-fall the laborer returning from his toil saw 
the Fisherman wending his way homeward with basket 
on his arm, and overtaking him, the laborer saw that 
the basket was empty. 



PEOSE. 181 

" Well, neighbor," said he, " you have a light load." 
" Yes," replied the Fisherman ; " the day has been 
sunny for my business ; we must expect such luck now 
and then ; but with fitting weather, I shall tell a differ- 
ent story to-morrow." And so saying, the Fisherman 
entered liis cottage by the back door. 

He who hath hope mil twice go a-fishing. 

XXIV. THE KINT> CAMEL. 

An Ass m an eastern city wliile being laded with 
merchandise complained of the heaviness of the load. 
Whereupon a Camel kindly offered to bear a portion of 
the wares, and the offer being accepted, the two animals 
walked together through the streets. 

" I was glad to be relieved of a portion of my burden," 
said the Ass to his companion, "for I felt unable to 
carry all that was put upon me." 

" I do not wonder at your fears," remarked the Camel I 
*' a member of my family suffered a broken back from 
being too heavily laden." 

"Please relate the circumstances," asked the Ass. 

" A caravan was being made up for a desert journey," 
said the Camel in reply, " and after the last bale had 
been stowed, a camel-driver bethought himself of some 



182 PROSE. 

straw ; accordingly he took an armful and placed it on 
top of the load which my relative was bearing ; the train 
was about to start when the driver, espying a single 
straw that had escaped his grasp, picked it up and laid 
it with the rest. And it was this last straw that broke 
the camel's back." 

" How sad to think of," said the Ass ; " but now that 
the question is in my mind, may I be permitted to ask 
why a certam portion of straw is taken along by each 
caravan ? " 

"Certainly," replied the Camel; "in crossing the 
desert provision must be made for the visit of the 
dreaded sand-storm. Now the approach of the storm 
may sometimes be anticipated by a knowledge of the 
wmd. Accordingly from time to time a camel-driver 
throws up a straw, and these straws show which way 
the wmd blows." 

" How admirable ! " exclaimed the Ass. " Is it not 
strange that these men have methods for finding out so 
much that they would wish to know." 

" It is indeed strange," answered the Camel ; " but 
what most I marvel at is, that they do these things 
while standing on two feet." 



PROSE. 183 

XXV. — THE TWO EARTH-WORMS. 

,An earth-worm was journeying in the eaii/h when it 
struck its head against something soft. The object 
encountered proved to be a second earth-worm, and 
who cried out, " Hail, stranger ! the streets are narrow !" 

"In truth, they cannot be called boulevards," 
responded the first earth-worm. " Have you been above 
lately?" 

" I was up there this morning looking at the lawns," 
rephed the other ; " but I did not stay long ; the robms 
were active ; and, besides, there is a superabmidance of 
space. I like things snug and compact about me." 

" That is the voice of all our tribe," rejoined the first 
Earth-worm; "and, that it is so, is a reason, I think, 
that a worm can so readily turn when trodden on." 

" Very likely ! " said the second Earth-worm ; " and 
now, if it will serve you, I will back down to the cen- 
tral shaft that you may pass me at that point." 

" I cannot allow you to so exert yourself in my behalf," 
rephed the other ; " I will retrace my steps and you can 
follow on mitil you reach your destination." 

" Nay, sir," said the second Earth-worm ; " it would 
grieve me beyond measure to cause for you such a loss 
of time." 



184 PEOSE. 

" Then," said the first Earth-worm, " I see nothmg 
but that we give over our journeys." 

" That, indeed," replied the second Earth-worm, « is 
the only solution of the problem." And being thus 
agreed, the two worms returned to their respective start- 
ing-places. 

Stubbornness may be shown by refusing concessions 
as well as by demanding them. 

XXVI. THE PEASANT AND THE ROMANOFF. 

A Romanoff was roaming about his grounds one 
night and musing on the ancient glories of liis house, 
when he saw a flush on the horizon. Running to one 
of the gates, he saw a Peasant hurrying by, and called 
out to him, " Where 's the fire, friend ? " 

" Nay, sire, I know not," was the reply. " Yet think 
I, were we to gain the top of yon high eastern hill we 
should know more of it." 

" Even so," responded the Romanoff : and together 
they climbed the ascent, the noble and the lowly bom. 
The top of the hill bemg reached, the two men saw 
that a large barn filled with hay on a distant plain was 
being consumed. They watched the burning until the 
barn and its contents were destroyed, and then turned 



PROSE. 185 

and retraced their steps down tiie hillside. Without 
saying more to his companion, the Romanoff strode for- 
ward to double the castle guard for the night ; while 
the Peasant, hearing a tower clock strike the twelfth 
hour, hurried on to be present at a meeting of the vil- 
lage (nihilistic) improvement society. 

Everybody runs to a fire, but this unity of sentiment 
dies with the blaze. 

XXVII. THE FOXHOUND AND HER PUPPIES. 

A Foxhound was amusing herself with her litter, 
when one of the puppies asked : — 

" Mother, why are our ears longer than our tongues ? " 

" Oh," replied the Foxhound; " I suppose it is that 
you may hear more than you say." 

" But," said a little pup m the corner, " I think our 
tongues should be longer than our ears m order that 
more can be said to be heard." 

" Well, never mind," rejomed the Foxhound, " take 
things as you find them, and don't try to argue with 
your elders. Now let some one hide the anise bag and 
see who can first scent it out." 



186 PROSE. 

XXVin. THE CRAB AND THE CLAM. 

A Crab while running forward over the sands was 
rnnning backward in his mind over some of the scenes 
of his past life, when he found himself rumiing into a 
Clam, who, with shells parted, was viewing the land- 
scape at the going out of the tide. The Clam, thus 
rudely disturbed in his reverie, suddenly closed his 
shell and caught the Crab in its clasp. 

" Let me go, sir ! let me go," cried the Crab. 

"What!" exclaimed the Clam, "a crustacean and 
afeard?" 

" Alas, too true," said the Crab. " I hardly dare say 
my shell 's my own." 

" What cause has thus brought timidity to one in 
armor clad ? " inquired the Clam. 

" Neglect," answered the Crab. " I lack advance- 
ment. My rival, the lobster, flushes Avith pride that he 
is diligently sought by the salad-monger ; while I, for- 
sooth, am left for the sport of the small boy." 

" Ah ! " rejoined the Clam, " believe me I sympathize 
with you. For know, despondent youth, I too have 
suffered. Mme old competitor, the oyster, outstrips me 
in the race for favor. And while men go down in ships 
to pull him from his bed, few there are who come to dig 



PROSE. 187 

for me. His name is first at every feast ; while only 
such of my people as have little necks are allowed to 
sit at the tables of the great. And yet methinks we do 
wrong to despair ; for hath not the great poet Shelley 
said, ' Much may be conquered, much may be endured 
of what degrades and crushes us ' ; and furthermore, if 
we are unbeloved, then are we unmolested." 

" True enough," responded the Crab ; " your mspir- 
ing words lift up my sinking spirits, and fresh hopes 
come with the salt breezes that blow across the strand. 
And now if you will open the front door I will step 
out sideways and take a diagonal direction for home." 

" Till we meet again," said the Clam, releasing his 
visitor. And then, feeling that happiness would come 
once more with the flowmg tide, the Clam took a last 
look at the shore and sank into the silt. 

XXIX. — THE traveller's TESTIMONY. 

A person while engaged in conversation m a room 
remarked that the French were the gayest of peoples. 
Whereupon a Traveller who was present exclauned ; — 

" That is indeed true. I remember that when I was 
in Paris, Me., a French Canadian there was who always 
danced around the room after eating of a good dinner ; 



188 PROSE. 

and I think you will find that any one who has travelled 
much entertains this opinion." 

A little experience goes a long way. A man who had 
raised some onions in a back yard wrote a book called 
" Bulb Culture as a Source of Profit." 



XXX. THE OLD GNU. 

In the middle of an afternoon in summer an old Gnu 
attached to the menagerie of a small circus was enter- 
taining his companions by relating various incidents m 
his past career. 

" Without desiring to attach too much importance to 
my existence," said the Gnu, " I may say that I have 
been an object of some interest in my time. I think it 
was ten or fifteen years ago, while I was connected 
with an exhibition called ' The Gigantic Aggregation of 
Stupendous Marvels and Colossean Collection of Costly 
Curiosities, ' that a curious event passed under my view. 
An entire family, father, mother, and children, came 
and stood in front of my cage, and after gazing at me 
for some tmie, the man said: 'He does look like a 
horse.' ' I think he looks like an ox,' said the woman. 
' No,' said the man, ' don't you see the mane, the tail, 
and the flanks ? ' ' Yes,' said the woman, ' but don't 



PROSE. 189 

you see the hoofs, the horns, and the muzzle ? ' The 
children now jomed in, some of them siding with the 
father, and some of them with the mother, and the dis- 
pute waxed so warm that a feeder came and asked the 
family to pass on and look at the gii-affe, so that others 
might see something." 

" That event must have been amusing to your com- 
panions," remarked an Ostrich, whose plumeless wings 
showed that he was made "a double debt to pay." 

" It was very much so," replied the Gnu. " The 
polar bear was put in such good humor by it that he 
gave a cake of ice to the lemonade vender whose supply 
happened to be short, and the hyena was heard to laugh 
for the first time in three years." 

" What was the previous cause for mirth on the part 
of the hyena? " gravely asked an ancient Simla, who in 
his day had exhibited as a what-is-it, an orang-outang, 
and a chmipanzee, and who was now making a fresh bid 
for fame by appearing as " the only gorilla born m bond- 
age." 

"The cause which induced the hj^ena to part with 
his gloom was an incident in the aviary," replied the 
Gnu. "A pelican had stolen a fish belonging to the 
adjutant bird, and in attempting to swallow it the fish 
had stuck in the pehcan's throat, so that he was 



190 PROSE. 

actually obliged to beg of the adjutant bird to remove it 
with his bill. This the adjutant did, and thinking to 
remove temptation from the pelican's path, he was about 
to eat the fish himself, when the pelican again seized it, 
and this time succeeded in safely sending it to join nine 
others who had gone before." 

" The pelican was persistent in what he thought was 
right," remarked the Ostrich. 

" He was persistent in what he knew was wrong, sir," 
responded the Gnu, sternly ; " the fish, as I have said, 
was the property of the adjutant bird." 

" I travelled one season with the organization you 
have mentioned," said the Simla, "and it was a matter 
of wonder for me that the proprietor thereof did not 
give it a name of a more striking character." 

" It is a legitimate cause for surprise, I admit," replied 
the Gnu. " My explanation is, that the proprietor pre- 
ferred to assemble an audience by some simple annomice- 
ment rather than to adopt a more imposmg diction in 
order to attract persons who otherwise might not care 
for the exhibition. But now, brave sirs, this chapter of 
remmiscence must close ; for the lecturer comes, and I 
must assume the position and the expression befitting 
one who resembles two other animals more than him- 
self." 



PEOSE. 191 

XXXI. THE ANT AND THE ELEPHANT. 

An Ant meeting an Elephant exclaimed : — 
" Sirrah ! fellow, one of us must turn out. " 
" One of us must indeed turn out," replied the Ele- 
phant, as he lifted his foot to advance. Whereupon the 
Ant ran nimbly to one side and thus escaped crushing. 
" I find it best to humor these characters," said the 
Ant to herself as the Elephant passed by ; and then 
picking up her burden, she regained the highway and 
continued on her journey. 

Impvidence with discretion does fairly well. 

XXXri. — THE cow AND THE PE-WEE. 

A Cow walking across a meadow in the springtime 
stopped mider a tree, which stood on the edge of the 
wood, and looking up at a Pe-wee, who was building a 
nest, said: — 

" Child of the woodlands, I would have a word with 
thee." 

" I am all attention," replied the Pe-wee. 

" This is the seventh year," continued the Cow, " that 
I have meandered through this meadow and watched 
the green drift through the brown. The occasion is one 



192 PROSE. 

of interest for me, both from a romantic and from a 
practical point of view ; yet, because you as regularly 
appear, I find my musings and my calculations dis- 
turbed by the monotonous and mournful notes which 
you pour forth from morn ' till dewy eve.' Can you 
not sing something else for a change — somethmg more 
in the nature of a roundelay ? " 

" I grieve that my singmg is no better," replied the 
Pe-wee ; " my repertoire is indeed limited, and there are 
but a few notes in my register, yet my song is an 
honest one ; and as for the sameness of which you com- 
plam, that is just as apparent in the transformation 
scene to which you are a yearly witness ; for instance, 
if m your meanderings, instead of a green, you should 
see a sky-blue or a crimson drift through the bro-wn, 
why, then I might have a new song for the occasion." 

The Cow evidently did not like these remarks, for 
she turned away, stretched out her neck, and uttered a 
prolonged call. 

" I scorn to say how many times I have heard that 
song," said the Pe-wee to herself, " and it is not a rounde- 
lay either." And then because of her kind disposition 
she strove to remain silent the rest of the day. 

The Cow was censorious. And m her narrowness 
saw not that the Pe- wee's little note of praise was as 



PKOSE. 193 

much a part of the plan as was the springmg forth of 
the tender blades. 



XXXIII. THE EMULOUS HOUSE-CAT. 

A House-cat, while resting in a back yard, became 
interested in the actions of a toad which was stationed 
near by in a shady nook. Frequently, as a fly or other 
insect came near, the toad was seen to dart out his 
tongue and as quickly draw it back, with the insect 
attached. 

How " marvellously rapid," exclaimed the Cat. 
" Yet stay ! I have a reputation for quickness myself. 
I will try this creature's mode of capture." An oppor- 
tmiity came when a butterfly approached on fluttering 
wuigs. As the insect drew nigh, the cat repeatedly 
thrust out her tongue, but succeeded only m licking her 
own jaws. Whereupon, a shepherd dog, having occa- 
sion to visit the neighborhood, cried out : — 

"What seems to be the matter, puss?" 

Mortified at being thus bantered by one whom she 
wished to think well of her, the Cat ceased her gri- 
maces, and, with a quick stroke of her paw, brought 
down her prey. 

" That is right," said the shepherd dog ; " one's o^vn 



194 PROSE. 

way is the best." And having said this he proceeded to 
a distant corner of the yard and dug up a beef-bone 
which he had previously hiid aside against a lonesome 
hour. 



XXXIV. THE SULTAN, THE MUFTI, AND THE GEAND 

VIZIER. 

A certain Mufti one day said to the Sultan : — 

"Who is the pompous person that often meets me 
with a severe gaze when I enter the palace; never 
deigning to accost me with any remark about the 
weather, or concerning the health of my relatives?" 

" Oh ! that," replied the Sultan, " that is my Grand 
Vizier ; he gives me much advice regarding state affairs." 

" Surely," said the other, " it would seem as though 
a learned mufti might be consulted with better advan- 
tage, and a portion of the large salary which this self- 
sufficient personage must conmiand thus remain in your 
majesty's purse." 

" I will think of the matter," replied the Sultan. 

In the evening the Grand Vizier, being in the pres- 
ence of the Sultan, said : " Mighty sire, may I ask who 
is the pushing individual who comes into the palace as 
though possessed of inherent rights in the premises. 



^, 



PROSE. 196 

brushing by me with much boldness of manner?" 

" Oh ! that is a Mufti," answered the Sultan. " He 
comes to tell me of certain passages in the Koran 
which pass my understanding." 

" Indeed ! " rejoined the Sultan's companion ; " sure- 
ly, one having the qualities necessary in a Grand Vizier 
should serve as well as this mufti of whom you speak." 

" Perhaps so," said the Sultan, " I will revolve the 
subject further in my mind." 

On the morning of the next day the sultan summoned 
the chief officer of the guard and bade him seize the 
Mufti and the Grand Vizier, and to sew them up in 
sacks and throw them into the sea. And when these 
things were done the Sultan called a new Mufti and 
made him also Grand Vizier. 

If our advice is followed, we cannot complain. 



XXXV. THE HONORABLE HORSE. 

Some horses were strolling through a pasture wherein 
the herbage was sweet, and where there were pools of 
clear water, with shade of trees, when one of their 
number noticed that the bars were down, and, seeing 
this, said to his companions : — 



196 PROSE. 

" Come ! the bars are down. Let us go abroad, and 
see what is about us." 

All of the horses but one started to go, and the leader, 
seeing that one horse did not move, cried out : — 

"Are you not going, sir?" 

" No," replied the other ; " that fence, as placed there 
by our owner, is indicative of a line beyond which we 
are not to pass ; and though the bars are down, yet m 
our mind's eye the line exists. I cannot cross it." 

The horses laughed at the fine reasoning of their com- 
rade, and flinging up their heels they galloped down 
the road, raising dust as they ran. After running some 
distance the horses stopped to crop the roadside grass, 
but this they found rather dusty, and the leader, espjdng 
a green lawn m front of a mansion, led his companions 
through the gateway and on to the lawn. From this 
place, however, they were quickly frightened away by 
the house-dog, who, moreover, chased them down the 
street, some small boys adding to their discomfort by 
throwing stones at them. Finally they were free from 
these tormentors, and one of the band was suggesting 
a return to the pasture, when a poundkeeper, with his 
son, came along and drove them all into the pound, in 
which place they were obliged to stay, in company with 
a mule and a calf, for the rest of the day, under a blaz- 



pPwOSE. 197 

ing sun, and without food or water. At sundown their 
owner came and took them back to the pasture, giving 
each horse as he passed over the bare a smgle stroke 
with a whip. The poor horses accepted chastisement 
without murmur, for, remembermg the words of their 
companion in the mornmg, they felt that they were to 
blame. Walkmg a short distance, they came across the 
Horse who had stayed at home, and after relating the 
adventures that had befallen them, one of the horses 
asked him : — 

" Were you ever in the pound, sir? " 

" Oh, yes," replied the other; " one day last summer, 
by kicking off the rail that runs along over the wall, 
I was able to leap into the roadside, and after roamino- 
about for a short time I was taken to the pound and 
kept there for two days, with a goat for a companion." 

" Aha ! " exclaimed his questioner ; " we think that 
we now see the cause of your scrupulousness." 

The Horse laughed, and admitted that his experience 
in the pound may have had some bearing on his action ; 
"but," he added, "I think it possible that honor and 
interest should lie in the same direction." 



198 PROSE. 

XXXVI. THE BEAR AND THE PUMA. 

A Puma, while ranging the mountainside, met a Bear 
leading her cubs. Wishing to be agreeable, the Puma 
patted one of the younglings on the head, at the same 
time saying to the Bear : — 

" I suppose that you find it difficult at times to get 
food for your family ? " 

" Oh, yes," replied the Bear, with some archness of 
manner ; " our cupboard is often bare." 

The Puma was at first inclined to feel displeased at 
this remark ; for he had been taught in early youth that 
punning was not a very acceptable form of wit ; think- 
ing, however, that there might be times when nothing 
else seemed available, and delighted to find the bear 
not so cross " as he is painted," he decided to meet the 
joke half way, and accordingly showed his beautiful 
teeth in recognition. During a conversation which fol- 
lowed concerning a proposition to join forces in order to 
better obtam the necessaries of life, the Bear remarked 
that in summer time her people lived chiefly on fruit 
and berries. To this the Puma replied that such a 
diet was not suitable for him ; that he could not work 
without meat ; and, moreover, he thought that it might 
be injurious to swallow so many seeds ; and for these 



PKOSE. 199 

reasons, advertisements announcing fresh milk and 
berries, and vegetables from the farm, were not alluring 
to him. After some fiu'ther discussion, it was decided 
that no system of cooperation would be expedient ; the 
two animals, however, agreed that their families should 
visit each other once a year, and parted with expressions 
of good will and esteem. 

XXXVII. THE GENTLEMAN AND THE STRANGER. 

One bright morning a Gentleman stepped briskly 
forth from his lodgings to attend to the duties of the 
day. Walking along the street, he came to a large 
hotel and entering therein he obtained some hotel note 
paper and sat down to wiite. After writing for a short 
time, he folded the paper, placed it in an envelope, and 
was about to raise the envelope to his lips when he saw 
a man approaching him. 

" Sir," said the Stranger, " may I have a word with 
you?" 

"Certainly," replied the Gentleman. 

" I am from a neighboring state," continued the stran- 
ger, " and having attended to my affairs I am ready to 
return, but find that certain funds which were to have 
been sent me are not forthcoming. Now, if you would 



200 PROSE. 

extend to me a certain sum, I could reimburse you upon 
arrival at my home." 

Upon hearing these words the gentleman replied, " I 
am sorry, sir, but the truth is that I myself am existing 
under a financial condition bearing in its essential fea- 
tures a striking similarity to that which you have de- 
scribed. I hold m my hand a missive which conveys to 
my landlady the intelligence that I shall again be obliged 
to defer the payment of a certam bill about which we 
have conversed a number of times." 

At the conclusion of these remarks, the two men 
looked at each other, shook hands and separated, the 
gentleman going forth in quest of a postage stamp 
while the stranger drew from a jar a glassful of iced 
water. 

" One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." 

XXXVIIl. THE GRATEFUL ADDER. 

An Adder was running out from a pile of stones, 
when one of the stones rolled down from its position 
and caught the Adder, holding him fast. A Husband- 
man who was going to the fields, seeing the accident, 
was filled with a momentary compassion ; and stretching 
forth his hoe raised the stone and thus released the rep- 



PROSE. 201 

tile. Whereupon the Adder said, "Sir, you have saved 
my life ; and my heart is filled with gratitude ; I cannot 
dig, neither can I herd sheep, but if you will take me to 
your enemy, I will sting him." 

" Why, that is a fail offer," exclaimed the Husband- 
man, " but I have no enemy ; that is " — he continued 
as he cast a rueful glance at the weeds that were chok- 
ing his vines — "none that you could strike down." 

"Alas, then," cried the Adder, "is it true that so 
great a talent as mine cannot be used to repay a ser- 
vice?" and mth these words the crest-fallen Adder 
turned about and crept back into the stones, while the 
Husbandman, leaping over the wall, grasped his hoe with 
a firm hand and struck vigorously at the weeds, exclaim- 
ing as he did so, " This is my Adder." 

XXXIX. — THE TWO IGUANAS. 

As two Iguanas were resting on the limb of a tree in 
a forest, one of them exclaimed, "This is dull business 
lying here. Why are we compelled to hug the tree so 
closely when the birds who live in the upper story are 
continually going abroad ; having, I presume, fine times 
on their excursions." 

" Ignorant and ignoble Iguana," cried the other, 



202 PROSE. 

" know you not that these ' excursions,' as you call them, 
though accompanied with much fuss and feathers, are 
merely business trips? These birds are seekmg food 
the live-long day, for themselves and their young. It 
is a weak spot in the minds of many living creatures, 
that they envy the appearance of pleasure m the doings 
of others ; and I doubt not that these same neighbors 
of ours, when we go down to the sea-shore in the spring, 
think that we are bent on pleasure, and wish that they 
could spend a week or two near the salt water ; whereas 
we know that we are going down to lay some eggs m 
the sand. Let us not then utter complaining words 
because we cannot fly ; but as it is feeding time, rather 
let us chew a few leaves and rejoice that we do not 
have to go out for oui' meals. 



VALE 



204 THE WILD ROSE. 



THE WILD ROSE. 

0, fair is summer on the hills, 

And Slimmer in the vale,' 
And soothing is the evening breeze^ 

And fresh the morning gale. 
A welcome waits for every bird, 

And every plant that grows; 
And welcome thrice when it appears^ 

The blooming bright loild rose. 

The bright and beautiful %mld rose, 

It blossoms in the lane. 
It clambers up the mountain- side^ 

It decks the swampy plain. 
Ifo skilfid hand hath trained its growth, 

Yet still its beauty glows; 
And all the breezes love to kiss 

The bonny bright wild rose. 



THE WILD ROSE. 205 

A maiden came, and plucking one 

Entwined it in lier hair; 
The rose was sweet with fragrant hloom^ 

The maiden blithe and fair; 
But blithe and fair, the maiden saw 

Life's pathway early close, 
And from her grave to meet the light 

/Sprang up a red wild rose. 

Yet bright had been the maiden's days, 

A brief but happy dream; 
And gently Death had sought her side 

And bore her dovm the stream. 
So sorroio must not tarry long 

And spread her train of looes 
For one whose life was brief but fair, 

Like the blooming bright wild rose. 



OCT 1^ 



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